Corruption on High
by Eliolia
Summary: B&B investigate remains found at a National Park. Their case becomes connected to an ongoing case against a corrupt former CIA operative involved in human trafficking. B&B tackle a huge cover-up all while exploring their new relationship. Changed to T.
1. Strange Conversation

Corruption on High

1. Strange Conversation

Booth shut the passenger door of his car for Brennan after she settled her bag at her feet, then jogged around to the driver's side. It was time for dinner, coffee, and pie after closing another case. The jury returned a guilty verdict after deliberating for two hours, taking another killer off the streets. They didn't usually stay in the courtroom for verdicts after their testimony, but Brennan wanted to see this guy put away. All their cases involving foster children were sources of pain for her, but this one was particularly difficult. She related to these victims. He was proud of her, but he knew she needed a break.

"So, Bones, I thought we'd grab a bite to eat and then take a stroll around the Mall. It's not too cold, and a little fresh air after that stuffy courtroom will do me some good," Booth suggested as they drove.

"Sure, Booth, that sounds nice. Fresh air sounds like the perfect way to forget death-filled dungeons, stuffy courtrooms, and condescending lawyers," she grinned at him as she grabbed her phone from her purse to check her messages.

"Hey, don't let Caroline hear you call her condescending," he joked.

"Oh, not Caroline, although she does have her . . . puckish moments," Brennan said with a half smile on her face, phone pressed to her ear "Did you notice the court reporter, Booth? She couldn't take her eyes off you during your testimony," Brennan teased him.

Slightly off-balance by the 'puckish' reference, Booth replied, "What? No, c'mon, Bones. I wasn't paying attention to the court reporter, I was focused on the facts of the case," he said as he glanced across the car at her, catching her grinning at him. "She was staring at me, huh?" he asked, deciding to let the puckish comment pass altogether.

"Yes, she was. You are very well put together, Booth. She would have to be blind not to notice," Brennan said, still teasing him. She shut her phone and tucked it back in her purse.

"Do you make a habit of checking out the women who check me out?" he teased back.

"Hey," Brennan replied indignantly. "I'm just here to help you pick a girl, Booth. Maybe she's the one."

"Hm, you didn't happen to get her card for me, did you?" Booth asked her, a little surprised to hear her repeat his words from London. "It's been a lean month what with all the dungeons and death, you know?"

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean," she agreed with a nod.

Booth wondered where she was going with this. He was starting to get used to their frank discussions, but she had never tried to set him up with someone before.


	2. The Unexpected

2. The Unexpected

At the diner, they ate companionably. Discussion shifted quickly away from their case testimony to family. Fries were stolen and laughs were shared. Booth was relieved that she seemed to be putting the case behind her, which was why it surprised him when she became melancholy during their walk after dinner.

"Do you want to talk about it, Bones?" he asked as they climbed the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

"Not really, Booth. But, I'm going to keep thinking about it unless I do," she said, glancing down at her footing.

"Okay, hit me then," he said with a smile.

"Why would I hit you, Booth? I'm not angry with you," she said.

Booth's amusement was evident in his tone. "I know, Bones. It's another one of those expressions. Just lay it on me. Tell me what's bothering you," he said, with his arms outstretched as he turned to look out over the reflecting pool.

"Oh, I see. I really shouldn't be surprised by your expressions anymore, should I?" she asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Nope. So, hit me," he said with a wink.

"Okay," she said slowly. "This case bothered me from the beginning. I don't usually have trouble putting aside my feelings, but I could have been one of the skeletons we found. That man was a monster. All those girls he killed, they were just like me. Abandoned to the system and placed with less than capable foster parents," Brennan glanced at Booth before continuing. "And, as horrible as my time in the system was, it turns out I was lucky, only . . .," she paused when her voice crackled with emotion. Brennan gazed downward once again, this time to compose herself.

"Only what, Bones," Booth asked as he gently raised her chin so he could look in her eyes.

Brennan's eyes glistened as she searched Booth's face. "Only, I still don't feel lucky, or even believe in luck for that matter. Sometimes I still feel like that 15-year-old kid. I'm not sure I can compartmentalize that."

"Oh, hey, c'mere, Bones," Booth reached for Brennan's hand. When she took his hand, he pulled her close to him and wrapped an arm around her shoulders; his other hand gently stroked her hair as she nested her forehead against his neck.

"You don't have to compartmentalize how you felt, how you feel. That's your heart taking over for your brain. It's okay to feel, Bones," he said, and then kissed the top her head. "Besides, you did put it all aside. It was enough to nail the guy. That's gotta count for something."

Brennan returned his embrace, hugging him tightly with one arm around his waist, and her other hand pressed close against his chest. She held on to him for a long time before she lifted her head and turned slightly so she could look into his eyes.

"Thanks, Booth. I needed to hear that," she said softly as her hand slid slowly down his chest and around his waist to meet her other hand beneath the back of his jacket. Booth felt his breath catch and his pulse quicken, and he could see in her eyes that she sensed the change.

"Bones," Booth whispered haltingly as he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers.

"Booth, you always find a way to make me feel better," Brennan whispered. She paused, searching his eyes, and then slowly tipped her head back to brush her lips across his.


	3. His Confession

3. His Confession

Booth's lips burned at her gentle kiss, and his blood boiled. His hands flew to her face and gently pulled her head away, just far enough so he could speak, although his breath was ragged. "Whoa, there, Bones I can't do this. Not like this." He saw the uncertainty in her eyes, the sting of rejection, but he pressed on, still cradling her face, his fingers tangled in her hair.

"This—whatever this is—I can't be who you turn to for temporary physical … comfort. I need more than that." He stared into her eyes trying to read her. She seemed stunned, but she hadn't pulled away, yet. He slowly untangled his fingers from her hair and rested his hands on her shoulders.

"Booth, I don't understand. We're compatible. Our job and odd hours make it difficult for us to develop any meaningful relationships away from work. I find it completely reasonable for us to become intimate with each other. Besides, everyone already thinks we are," Brennan explained, turning to reason in the face of his denial.

"Stop it, Bones," Booth cut her off gently with a slight shake of his head. Brennan looked as if she were holding her breath, waiting for his explanation.

"I don't want us to be just partners," he paused before continuing with a smirk, "or friends with benefits," Booth smiled as he noticed her confused expression.

"Booth, I don't know what that means," Brennan said.

"Figures," Booth replied, gazing upward with his eyes closed. Even in the midst of such an intense moment, she was still so naïve.

He lowered his head to look in her eyes again as he spoke. "It means friends who have a casual sexual relationship with each other, but no emotional ties," he explained. He felt then tension rising in her shoulders, so he pulled her closer to counter her fear with all the support he could offer.

"So, you're telling me you won't engage in a sexual relationship with me?" she asked, unable to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. "Or, be my partner anymore?" she finished in a whisper.

"Shhh, Bones, don't cry, don't pull away, and quit jumping to conclusions here. Just hear me out," Booth requested quietly, but firmly. "I'm not going anywhere," Booth said as he brushed away an errant tear from her cheek.

"Okay," Brennan said as she turned her face into his hand, savoring the touch, while trying to process the contradictory things he said.

Booth felt a tightness in his chest as he caressed her cheek. Before he knew what was happening, he found himself speaking again. "I'm telling you I want it all, not just an occasional romp in the sheets after a stressful case, although God knows I want that too. I want to share my whole life with you, partners in everything. I ...," Booth paused and took a slow deep breath before continuing, afraid to go on but too terrified to stop now. This conversation was completely out of control; he had no choice but to continue, and the truth was his only option.

"If you kiss me, I mean really kiss me--No Caroline, no mistletoe, no coercion--I won't be able to go back to 'just partners.' I won't be able to pretend I don't care if you meet someone else who takes your breath away. Right now, right this minute, we haven't crossed over that line. I can live with being just partners and friends, and wish you well when your Mr. Right comes along, because I love you and I want the best for you. So please, Bones, don't do—this—unless you mean it. I...I'm not that strong," Booth pleaded with her.


	4. An Explanation

4. An Explanation

Brennan's eyes were huge pools of liquid blue, searching Booth's eyes for confirmation. "You love me?"

"Yea, Bones. I love you," Booth smiled and brushed her hair back from her face. "So, do I get punched this time, or are you going to run out of here?" he asked, only half joking.

"Since when?" she asked him, trying to pull back from his embrace.

"Since when did you punch me or since when have you run out on me?" Booth asked a bit sarcastically, trying to lighten the mood, but his arms weren't giving her room to pull away.

Brennan pulled a hand free to slap at Booth's chest, still trying to extricate herself from his encircling arms. "No, since when have you loved me?"

"Slapped. Okay, that's better than a punch. I can work with that," Booth said with a wry grin while he thought about her question. "If you want the exact date and time, I'm not sure I can give that to you. You sort of crept up on me. I guess I started thinking about it when I realized Kenton was going to kill you," he replied seriously.

"That long?" she asked. "Booth, that was before you and Cam got back together. It was years ago."

"Yea, it was, which is why I said I can live with just partnership and friendship between us, I've been living with it," he explained gently. He could see in her eyes that she was reliving those years in just moments, and he had a feeling he knew what was next.

"But, you told me to go away with Sully. If you loved me then, why would you do that?" she asked.

He did, indeed, know her too well. "Bones, I told you to go with Sully because I wanted you to be with someone who would love you as much as I do. I like Sully. He would have treated you right. Of all the men you've dated since I've known you, he's the only one I would trust with your heart," he said. "Besides me I mean," he added quietly.

Booth silently prayed she would ask him another question. The longer he held her, the harder it would be for her to run away.

"I don't know what to say, Booth. I...," Brennan began.

Booth sighed, and said, "Bones, you don't have to say anything. I told you because I don't want you to misinterpret why I'm turning you down." Booth's voice grew husky as he said, "I want you, but I want all of you. For now, I'm content to take what we already have, a great partnership and a great friendship. One that's strong enough to survive me baring my soul, I hope. And, if you ever decide that you love me too, well then, I think you know what to do," Booth said as he released her from their close embrace to squeeze her shoulders. He tucked back a strand of her hair and let his hand trail down her neck, and then dropped his hands to his sides and took a small step back.

Brennan's hair fell back into her eyes as she glanced down at the space Booth just created between them. She felt cold after being in his arms for so long. She shivered and began rubbing her arms. Booth removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "Here, Bones. Come on. Let's head back to the car and get you home."

Brennan allowed him to lead her down the steps and over to the car. His hand warmed the small of back as usual. They walked in an uncomfortable silence, both knowing that their partnership might never be the same again.


	5. A Phone Call

5. A Phone Call

While Booth drove, Brennan replayed everything that happened on the steps. She couldn't figure out how her plan had gone so awry. It should have been so easy to move their partnership to another level. However, he thought she only wanted him for comfort, which meant he didn't believe she loved him. It also meant he probably wouldn't believe her if she declared her love for him tonight.

Booth pulled up outside her apartment building after the quietest drive they had ever taken. No music, no bickering, just glances at each other. Booth felt a strange sense of relief. Things would finally change, for better or worse. He also knew it would take her some time to process what he revealed. He reached over and grabbed her hand before she got out. "See you tomorrow, Bones."

"No," Brennan replied bluntly as she pulled her hand back.

"No?" Booth asked, feeling his heart sink.

"No. It's a pretty simple word, Booth. Tomorrow isn't soon enough. What I want is for you to park the car and come upstairs with me. We still have a lot to talk about. I'm not running away, and I'm not shutting you out. In fact, I'm a bit angry with you right now. Normally, I would say that we should discuss this after a good night's sleep, but I don't think either of us will sleep well until we talk," Brennan said.

"Upstairs, tonight, after," Booth stammered. The shrill ring of Booth's phone cut through the awkwardness. He fumbled for his phone, all the while staring at Brennan.

"Yea, Booth," he said into the cell. He gripped the steering wheel with his free hand as he listened to caller.

Brennan continued as if Booth's had not answered his phone. "Yes, upstairs, tonight, after all that has happened, I think you owe me that. Especially since you think I have abandonment issues. You wouldn't want me to think you were abandoning me, would you?" Brennan snapped.

"Right, send the directions to my phone," he said, cutting a glance at Brennan. He loved her, but she had an irritating habit of continuing to talk while he was on the phone.

"Yea, I think I can get a hold of her. We'll be there," he paused to check his watch, "in about an hour." Booth snapped his phone shut and turned to fully face Brennan. "Well, we do need to go upstairs, but you're going to need to grab your bag. We have a case." Booth reached for his keys and shut off the car before Brennan let herself out.

"Maybe you shouldn't come up right now then, Booth. I'll just grab my bag and be right back," she replied softly with her hand on the door latch. Brennan felt a little sorry she had snapped at him, but not sorry enough to apologize.

"Look, Bones. I appreciate that you want to talk and that we have to focus on the case. I was just going to brief you while you get changed and grab your things. Okay?" he asked with a half smile on his face.

"Fine, come up then. We won't solve this one by sitting here," she said as she pushed open the door and headed upstairs. Booth cursed under his breath as she slammed the car door. He locked the car and jogged after her.


	6. A Case

6. A Case

Booth caught up with her at the elevator, and they rode to her floor in silence. Brennan pulled her keys from her bag and opened the door, which she shut behind Booth after he stepped into her apartment. The door slammed, startling them both.

"I thought you were going to brief me on our case, Booth. If you're not, just wait downstairs," Brennan fired as she headed toward her bedroom.

Booth watched her as she walked down the hall. "Yea. I was, but I was thinking about something else. Sorry." In fact, he had been trying to figure out what she hoped to accomplish by talking tonight before the case call came in. Now that he'd had a few minutes to consider what he had done tonight, he was kicking himself for jeopardizing everything. Years of being so careful, of not pushing her too far, simply tossed without hesitation. "Get a grip, Booth," he thought.

So, the case" Booth said as he pulled his phone and followed her down the hall. Brennan left her bedroom door partially open. Booth stood with his back to the doorway to relate what he knew. "We have near skeletal remains found in a culvert near an old mine in the Prince William Forest Preserve. Local police recovered an ID for Mark Sinclair, who just happened to be in the WitSec program. He, and his entire family, have been missing for three weeks. We need to confirm the ID and canvas the area to see if we can find out anything about the rest of the family," he said.

"Witness protection?" Brennan asked from over her shoulder as she tugged on a sweatshirt. "What was he testifying about?"

"If it's him, he was going to be a key witness in a missing persons case. That's I all have right now," Booth said, sounding confused. He turned around slowly to look at her. "You know, Bones. Missing persons cases don't usually require WITSEC. There's probably something we don't know yet."

"Well, can we get the case file before we drive down there?" Brennan asked. She was standing in the doorway pulling her hair into a ponytail, wearing jeans, a Georgetown sweatshirt, and leather boots. "I could read it on the way and see if I can get any details for us," she said grabbing an overnight bag from beside the door and joining him in the hallway.

"It's probably on the system. Let's find out," Booth said, taking the bag. Their fingers brushed during the transfer. Booth froze at the touch, holding his breath. They were both still holding the bag. Booth looked up from their hands and into her eyes for a moment before she let go. Finding his breath again, he asked, "Hey, can I get my jacket back, Bones?"

Brennan released her back. "Oh, of course. It's on the bed. I'll grab it," Brennan replied while turning back into the bedroom. Brennan was grateful for the distraction.

Booth took a deep, cleansing breath while she retrieved the jacket and mentally shook himself. When she returned, she tucked the jacket under his arm and over her bag.

Their walk to the car was an improvement over the journey up to her apartment. Having a new case to discuss seemed to put them both back into their comfort zones. Booth stowed Brennan's bag in the back with the one he always kept in his car and slipped on his jacket before climbing into the driver's seat. He cranked the car, and Brennan booted the laptop. Booth couldn't help but watch her while it came on line.

"Bones, we can research the case file later if you want to talk during the drive," he suggested.

"No. I would rather have your undivided attention when we have that discussion," she replied and spun laptop towards Booth. "Log in so I can find the case?" she asked.

"Sure," he said. He typed in his password and called up the case number before pushing it back across the car to Brennan. "Everything should be there."

"Thanks," Brennan said quietly. "I won't call Cam until we have some evidence to send over to the Jeffersonian. It's late and I don't want to disrupt anyone until we have no choice. It could be morning before we can recover anything."


	7. Interrogation

7. Interrogation

Booth pulled away from Brennan's apartment and headed toward Virginia. He intended to let her do whatever talking there was to do, but once they were out of the city, he found himself asking her, "Bones, did you intend to kiss me tonight?"

"Booth," she said with exasperation in her voice.

"Yea, yea, I know. You want my 'undivided attention,'" he said with a little head shake and then shifted back to his original topic. "'Cause, you know, you were either flirting with me or trying to fix me up with the court reporter before we ate. And, I'd like to know what you were doing," he said and gave her a tight lipped grin before turning back to the road.

"I wasn't flirting with you, I was just," Brennan's voice trailed off. Booth saw a blush rising on her cheeks.

"I was merely trying to be a good partner, a friend," she replied weakly.

"Is that right? You mean you weren't trying to read my reaction when you brought up the prospect of me going out with someone else? And what was that line about it being hard for us to date? Because that sounded a little rehearsed now that I think about it," he commented.

"Are you interrogating me, Booth?" she asked.

Booth thought about that for a moment before answering. "Yea, I guess I am. So you might as well answer me." He shot another glance at her and saw she was clenching her teeth.

They traveled in silence for a few minutes before Booth continued, "So you are running away." His voice made it clear he was expecting no less.

"No, Booth. I was trying to focus on the possible victim," she replied.

"The vic can wait. He'll be there when we get there. His case file will still be on the system during the drive home," he said, beginning to lose his patience.

"I learned something that should interest you," she said.

Booth cocked an eyebrow her way, and she offered him a weak smile in return.

"You were right. It's not just a missing persons case. He was going to testify about a child exploitation operation and a corrupt CIA agent. Missing children, physical and sexual abuse, human trafficking," her voice trailed off as she finished, almost to herself, "And I didn't think it would get worse than our last case," Brennan said sadly.

"Hey," Booth said softly as he took her hand in his. "We're not in on that half of it. We're just going to figure out who wanted our vic dead, and put him away. And if it turns out that we are dealing with more than that, I'll be right here for you. Just like always."

"Booth?" Brennan queried.

"Yea, Bones," Booth responded.

"I was trying to flirt with you, and I," Brennan paused with a sigh, "and I intended to kiss you tonight."


	8. Anthropologically Speaking

8. Anthropologically Speaking

Booth's jaw slackened a bit at Brennan's confession, and then he snapped it shut. She hadn't run away, and she was being honest with him. Now what?

"Thanks for telling me," he finally said.

"You're welcome," she replied automatically, and then felt a little silly. "So what do we do now?" Brennan asked and glanced at him before focused her attention on the road ahead.

"Now we get to the park and work the case," he replied.

Brennan began speaking again as if he had not just changed the subject. Her voice was quick and clipped when she spoke. "I assume you will not entertain developing a physical relationship with me unless you believe that I love you. I also assume you would consider any overture in that regard to be a means to an end, which I would like to point out is something we both apparently want. Unfortunately, that would immediately call into question my motive. I guess," she paused to glance at him, "we are in a cucumber," she said more slowly, a touch of nervousness evident in her voice.

Booth glanced at her and rolled his eyes. "Pickle, Bones. It's a pickle," Booth replied chuckling.

"Pickles are cucumbers, are they not?" she asked.

"Well, yea, but not all cucumbers are pickles," he said.

Booth pushed back in the driver's seat and stole another glance at Brennan. "Maybe we should just forget what happened earlier. Forget I ever said anything."

"But you did. I have a very good memory," she said seriously, then added with a chuckle, "And, no take-backs. I think you need to apply your powers of perception," she wiggled her fingers at him while she spoke, "to our . . . relationship. I'm fairly certain I've told you what I want," she said.

"Yea, you want, you know," he paused and gestured his hand towards her in a circular motion. "You want sex, because I'm convenient," he said without looking at her.

"I suppose that's an accurate, although incomplete summary. But if you won't accept my logic as a good enough reason for you and I to explore a physical relationship, I think you will need to determine for yourself whether what I feel meets your definition of love," she told him frankly.

"And how am I supposed to know what you're feeling if you won't tell me?" he asked her.

"You're the heart person, Booth. How should I know?" she retorted.

"Bones, if you're trying to make me crazy, you're doing a great job of it," he said in exasperation.

"Perhaps you should make an appointment with Sweets?" she suggested.

Booth rolled his eyes at her and turned his attention back to the road. Brennan frowned at Booth across the car while she tried to find come up with a way for Booth to accept what she could offer him.

"What is your definition of love, by the way?" she asked him after a considerable break in the conversation.

Booth glanced at her again but didn't reply right away. He let out a sigh and tilted his head to the side so he could watch the road and her face. "Love is love, Bones. It just is."

"There are several definitions and components of love, you know. It can mean like, or enjoyment, and there's passion, fidelity, desire, and of course sex," she stated.

"Bones!" Booth said in a raised voice. He jaw was set firmly, and he began pulling off the road.

"What Booth, did you see something in the road?"Brennan asked while looking out of her window for whatever Booth must have seen.

"No, I didn't see anything in the road. I'm stopping so I can give you my undivided attention," he said as he put the car in park and turned toward her. "What do you want from me Bones? Haven't I said too much already? Now you want to analyze my definition of love?" he asked her quickly, with a hint of frustration in his voice.

Brennan's eyes grew wider at his tone. "I'm sorry, Booth. I didn't mean to irritate you. I would simply find it helpful to know what you want or expect from me," she said softly. "Love seems to be a subjective emotional construct in your world. I don't do subjective very well," she said.

Booth's features softened as she spoke, and a crooked smile started to form on his lips. She hadn't literally asked him a question, but he was pretty sure she had, in her unique Brennen-esque way. The beginnings of a plan were forming in his mind. "Okay, Bones. I'm sorry I snapped at you. We're not going to figure this out tonight. But I think I may have an idea, if you're willing to work with me on this," he said.

Brennan nodded and replied, "I trust you completely."

'Score one for Bones!' Booth silently cheered to himself. To her, he merely let his smile grow larger before saying, "Good. Then, the first night we get home after recovering these remains, I'll pick you up at 7. I'd like to take you to dinner."

"We've eaten dinner together before."

"Not like this," he said.

Brennan nodded slowly. "A date?" she asked.

"A date," he confirmed.

Brennan's eyes twinkled. "Dating is an anthropologically accepted means for determining the suitability of a mate," Brennan replied.

"Of course it is, Bones. Of course it is," he laughed. "Can we get going now? I think we're late to our crime scene," he said checking his watch.


	9. On the Scene

9. On the Scene

Booth pulled back onto the highway. Brennan turned on the radio. Rap music. Again. Not even that would spoil his mood now. She agreed to a date. Booth was more relieved than he realized he could be. Perhaps he hadn't thrown everything away after all. In fact, a world of possibility began to form in his mind, things he never dared hope for just hours ago.

Brennan noticed her partner's mood lighten as he drove the last leg of the trip to the park. She wondered what he had in mind for their date, and for the first time in a long time, Temperance Brennan was excited about something other than a skeleton.

***

Booth navigated the SUV through the park as far as possible. When he parked, he could see the floodlights ahead. Cars lined the sides of the access road.

"I don't think we're going to find a better place to park. But it looks like they're expecting you, Bones," Booth said with a grin.

"Of course they are Booth. They called us, remember?" she said flatly.

Booth rolled his eyes, but his smile wouldn't go away. He accompanied her to the site of the remains and stayed by her side while she made her initial observations. The night was colder than he remembered it being on the Memorial steps, and he was glad she had dressed warmly.

"Male, probably in his 40s. There are signs of recent trauma. That's not your cause of death, though. Looks like someone just--worked him over. Most likely a right-handed attacker. Sorry that's not much help. There's been some scavenger activity. This isn't everything. I need a team to spread out and cover a 100 yard grid around the main site," she said as she stood and faced Booth.

"Worked him over, Bones? You mean to tell me you got that one right?" he asked her.

"What? I'm certain I've heard you use the phrase before," she said. Booth nodded and gave her a look that made her knees weaken slightly. "Alright, I'll begin recovery here, have them call me if they find anything. And don't let them disturb my evidence," she reminded him firmly.

"I know, Bones. They won't compromise your evidence," Booth replied as he turned to find the local officer in charge. Booth approached a small group of law enforcement. He flashed his credentials and said, "Special Agent Seeley Booth. Who's the local lead on this case?"

An officer with graying hair nodded at Booth. "That would be me. I'm Deputy Allen Moyer," he introduced himself. Moyer's unremarkable height and slight beer gut belied the strength of his grip.

"Good to meet you. My partner, Dr. Brennan, tells me we have some bones missing. I'm going to need a team to spread out and grid search the immediate area."

"I've heard about Dr. Brennan," he said with a deep chuckle. "Yea, we can do that. But we don't have enough flood lights to do it tonight. I can post a couple men to make sure nothing is disturbed until we have some daylight," Moyer continued.

"Hrm, might not go over well, but I see your point. Dr. Brennan will most likely work through until she collects all she can find at the original discovery site," Booth informed him.

"Sure, sure. She can use whatever is already out here," Moyer said.

"Thanks," Booth replied. "Now, who found the remains?" he asked.

The deputy indicated a park ranger leaning against a jeep. "That's Miles Addison," Moyer replied. He tripped on a bone near the access road to the old mine site during a routine check. Quick search turned up the bones," he explained.

Booth nodded his thanks and glanced at his watch as he walked over to Addison. It was already past 10 pm. "Miles Addison?" Booth asked the young man, who nodded in reply and pushed off the tree to offer his hand. Booth put Addison in his late twenties. He had fair skin, sandy hair, and grass green eyes. _'Probably contacts,'_ Booth thought to himself.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth," Booth introduced himself, shaking Addison's hand. "Anything unusual tonight, other than the bones?" he asked.

"No, it's been real quiet the past week or so since the weather turned so cold," Addison answered while absently tugging his earlobe.

"How often do you, or any other park ranger, check this area?" Booth asked.

"Ah, I'm out here about once a month, I'd say. Not sure about the other fellas," Addison answered.

"Can you think of anything unusually happening out here in the past month or so?" Booth asked him directly.

"Ah, I don't really recall anything out of the ordinary. I could pull my logs for you, though," Addison offered.

"That would be helpful," Booth said. He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his card.

"You can send your logs for the past month here. But, please, call me if your review reminds you of anything at all, no matter how minor," Booth said, handing Addison his card.

"Sure, Agent Booth. I'll get on it first thing tomorrow," Addison said.

"I appreciate that," Booth said. "I'm also going to want to speak with your supervisor. Maybe someone else noticed something."

"Yea, sure. You'll want Karen Cole for that. She's my direct supervising officer," Addison told him.

Booth jotted Cole's name along with his other notes in his pad and thanked Addison before heading back to Brennan. She was completely focused on her work. She had a few of the local cops assisting her with recovery. He was about to tell Brennan about the delayed grid search, when a male voice behind him called his name.


	10. Special Agent Tom Harkness

10. Special Agent Tom Harkness

"Booth!" the voice called. Booth turned, recognizing the voice. Special Agent Tom Harkness. His steel gray hair, weathered face, and stocky build did not set him apart from a crowd. But his work ethic was legendary. The man was basically a hero in the bureau. With a 20 plus year service record, everyone who knew him looked up to him. He was a field agent, all the way. Booth worked with him on a few occasions over the years.

"Tom, what are you doing out here, I thought you were in Baltimore?" Booth asked.

"Yea, I'm still posted in Baltimore. But Sinclair is my witness, my case. I just want to know if it's him," Harkness said as he closed the final distance between them, breathing hard. He peered over Booth's shoulder with a hint of a scowl on his face. Booth placed a hand on Tom's shoulder and said, "Hey, man. Let her work. She can't give you an ID out here. So far, she thinks the age is consistent with Sinclair. But we're just getting started. You understand, right Tom?" Booth asked him and released his shoulder.

"Yea, I guess. I'm just. . . I need to know if my case is in the crapper or not," Harkness replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Not that it hasn't been there for the past three weeks as it is, but you know what I mean, right, Booth?" Harkness shrugged.

"Yea, I know, Tom. If it were my witness, I'd be very interested too. Who's your prosecutor?" Booth asked.

"Julian caught this one, and she's trying to eat me alive over this crap," Harkness said.

"Caroline Julian's case?" Booth asked.

"Yea. I swear if she 'cherie's' me one more time. . .. Well, you've worked with her before, haven't you?" Harkness asked him.

"Sure have. Often, actually. She's a pistol," Booth replied.

Tom's breathing finally slowed down to a more normal level as they continued to discuss the infamous Caroline Julian.

"Listen. I'll call you as soon as we learn anything," Booth assured him.

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it," Harkness said. He stared down as he shuffled his feet for a moment before he looked up at Booth again. "Right. Right. I'll get out of your way and let you work it," he said and turned to head back down the trail.

"Hold on, Tom. Have you ever met Dr. Brennan before?" Booth asked him as Harkness reversed his brief movement.

"Nope, can't say as I have," Harkness replied.

"I think if you meet her, you'll feel more at ease. Follow me," Booth invited.

Booth and Harkness picked their way over the limb littered ground to where Brennan was working.

"Bones," Booth called to her. Brennan didn't look up.

"Earth to Bones!" Booth called a little louder.

"Hm, what is it Booth?" she replied, not looking up.

"Bones?" Harkness asked Booth?

Booth shook his head briefly at Harkness, indicating he would explain later.

"I want to introduce you to Special Agent Tom Harkness. He's the lead on the WITSEC file you read on our way down here tonight," Booth explained.

Brennan looked up, then removed her gloves before standing and extending a hand to Harkness. "Nice to meet you, Agent Harkness. I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan," she said. Harkness shook her hand and winked at Booth.

"Pleasure's all mine, Dr. Brennan. Sorry to crash your party here. I'm just ready to put this case of mine to bed. Hoping you'll help me do that," he said.

Brennan glanced at Booth, who cut his eyes from her to Harkness.

"Ah, not a party, actually. But, I am working on collecting the remains so I can make an identification. We'll be searching the area in the morning to recover any remains that have been moved by scavengers. After that my team at the Jeffersonian will make this case their first priority," Brennan told Harkness. Booth nodded and gave her an encouraging smile.

Harkness nodded. "I'll have all of Sinclair's records sent to your lab."

"Thank you, Agent Harkness. If it is Sinclair, we should be able to confirm the identification quickly. If not, we'll follow where the evidence leads and, hopefully, find out why this victim was carrying your witness' identification," she replied.

"Good enough for me. I suppose I should let you get back to work. Good to meet you, Dr. Brennan," he said.

"Nice to meet you too. Sorry it's under these circumstances," she said.

"Bones, I'm going to walk back to Tom's car with him. See if he can give me anything that wasn't in the case file. You okay here?" Booth asked Brennan.

"Sure, Booth. I have another hour or so of work here. Do we have a place to stay tonight? No sense driving back to DC this late," she said checking her watch. Nearly 11 p.m.

"Not yet. But, I'll see what I can do," he assured her.

"Thanks," she called after him, her eyes lingering on his retreating form as he caught up to Harkness. She was bone tired, and knew he must be too. Their walk on the mall seemed like days ago, not hours, and the emotional strain of trying to understand Booth's sense of logic was taking its toll on her as well. She wasn't sure she had completely accepted his claim that he had loved her for years, but perhaps it was true. He was behaving as if everything was completely normal between them. He was as professional as ever, and just as pleasing to view. She gave herself a little shake as she realized she had been mentally undressing him as he walked away. Brennan closed her eyes and turned back to her recovery work.


	11. Catching Up

11. Catching Up

Booth caught up with Harkness and patted him on the shoulder. "Tom, thought I'd walk you to your car, see if there's anything you can tell me about your case that maybe isn't in the file. I'm just looking for anything you can think of that might help us out," Booth told him.

"Have you had a chance to read the whole file already?" Harkness asked incredulously.

"Nah, Bones read some while I drove. She gave me the highlights. I was going to start fresh in the morning while she finishes up here," Booth responded.

"I know what you're getting at Booth, but this was an 18 month investigation. Sinclair was a scumbag willing to roll. Julian cut the deal for WitSec. Read the file first. Then we'll talk about this, all right?" Harkness asked him. "Anything I have to tell you now won't make much sense until you're up to speed."

"Sure thing," Booth replied.

Harkness deftly turned the conversation back to Brennan. "But, there you go with that Bones thing again. How'd such a pretty li'l thing get saddled with a nickname like that?" Harkness asked him chuckling.

Booth smirked. "Don't let her catch you calling her a pretty li'l thing. She'd probably knock you on your tail," Booth chuckled.

"Can't take a compliment?" Harkness asked.

Booth shook his head. "No, that's not it. She would just think you're a chauvinistic pig who was talking down to her," Booth said.

"Hmph, women these days. Gotta watch whatcha say or they sue!" Harkness exclaimed.

"Nah, Bones isn't like that. Might break your wrist if you made a move she didn't like, but that's another story," Booth chuckled to himself. His face became animated as he discussed Brennan, and his voice, although tired, sounded just a touch more cheerful as he talked about her. Harkness noticed, but just raised an eyebrow and nodded to encourage Booth to continue talking.

"The name—that's her work, studying bones all day long." Booth said with a shrug. "I started calling her Bones years ago, before we were even partners. She used to hate it. Heck, I think that's why I kept it up in the beginning. Well, that, and she had enough people calling her 'doctor' all day long. Her ego didn't need me feeding it too." Booth said, smiling. "I think she likes it now. She even uses it herself once in a while."

"Reminds me of something I used to call Suze, but I'm not known for kissin' and telling," Harkness laughed.

Booth almost reflexively responded to Harkness' comment with his standard, 'we're just partners' line, but stopped himself. Instead, he said, "Bones is a class act."

"Anyone else call her that?" Harkness asked.

Booth thought about it for a moment before responding with a small shake of his head, "Just my son. He calls her Dr. Bones," Booth said with a smile. "Her family calls her Tempe, and everyone else calls her Brennan or Dr. Brennan."

"Whoa, hold the phone." Harkness told him animatedly, shoving Booth's shoulder lightly. "I think I just put something together. You arrested Max Kennan, er is it Brennan? Her father?" Harkness asked.

"It's Brennan now. And yea, I did," Booth admitted, raking his hand through his hair. "Max killed Deputy Director Kirby," Booth replied matter-of-factly. "Granted, the crooked S.O.B. was gunning for Bones and her brother Russ at the time," Booth explained, tucking his thumbs in his belt.

"First name basis with the guy? Sounds like a regular soap opera you're running down there at the Jeffersonian, Booth." Harkness said.

Booth chuckled, and made a quick decision to not mention that Max now worked at the Jeffersonian before continuing. "Bones tried to bring him in too, but Max pulled a fast one on her," Booth said, remembering the day Max managed to cuff her to a bench. He glanced at Harkness. "You know, Max was acquitted of the charges, right?" Booth asked him.

"Yea, I heard that. But you just said he killed him," Harkness retorted.

"He did," Booth said.

"I just can't believe you're still working together. That's some crazy stuff. Does any of it ever get in the way? I mean, you've gotta trust your partner, right?" Harkness asked.

"I took a bullet for the woman, Tom—after all the drama with Max," Booth said while absently rolling his right shoulder. "And, I trust her with my life. She killed the psycho who shot me. One shot—dead," Booth replied seriously. "Look, we're good at our job. I promise you, we'll get to the bottom of it," Booth said as Tom motioned towards his waiting car.

"Thanks for walkin' an old man down to his car in the dark. It was good to catch up. How long's it been?" Harkness asked him.

"Geez, must be 6 years. Parker was still a baby," Booth said.

"Oh, I meant to ask. How's a...," Harkness paused, searching his memory. "Rebecca?"

"She was fine last I saw her," Booth answered. "We're not together anymore. I get Parker on weekends. You know how it goes," Booth said. "But, how're Susan and the girls?"

"She's good. Told me once I retire, she's going to make me do volunteer work or something. She's not sure she can put up with me full time," Harkness said, smiling. "The kids are grown. Marie's teaching, married a podiatrist a couple years ago. And, Casey's working on her PharmD at Pitt."

"Tell Susan I said hello, will you?" Booth asked.

"Sure thing," Harkness said, scratching his chin. "You know . . . if this case ever makes it to trial, Suze and I'll be in DC for the duration. We should have dinner. Tell her yourself. Heck, bring that partner of yours. Suze likes her books."

"Yea, sure thing." Booth promised. "And, Bones and I will be in touch once we've reviewed the file," he added. Harkness climbed in his car. Booth waved as he drove off, then grabbed his cell before heading back up the trail to see if Brennan was ready to pack up for the night.


	12. A Twist

12. A Twist

Brennan sealed the evidence bag containing the last of the bones she recovered from the dumpsite, peeled off her gloves and tossed them in a garbage bag. She leaned against the transport vehicle and stared up through the trees while she stretched her back. Someone cut the power to the nearest floodlight, allowing her to see a few stars through the sparse, winter canopy.

"Hey," Booth said quietly from the other side of the car. "You look beat. Ready to get out of here for the night?"

Brennan turned to face him over the hood of the car and nodded. "I am rather tired. I hope you found us a room somewhere close."

"Yeah, about 10 minutes away," he told her as she walked around the car to meet him. "Let's go," he said. Booth placed his hand at the small of her back and began to guide her down the trail.

"Mmm good, I'm ready for a hot bath," she said, leaning back slightly against the gentle pressure of his hand. "Did you learn anything from Agent Harkness?" Brennan asked as they walked.

"No, not yet. I think he may have something for us, but he wants us to read the entire file first. Tomorrow is soon enough," he said glancing at his watch. "Eh, today that is. I'll start on it first thing in the morning while you finish recovery. I hope to talk with Karen Cole, the Park Ranger supervisor tomorrow too. One of the park rangers, Miles Addison, discovered the remains while he was on a routine patrol at the old mine."

They were well away from the single set of floodlights that continued to illuminate the dump site. Their shadows stretched out long and faint in front of them, obscuring the trail. The sounds of the forest seemed louder. Brennan stumbled and exclaimed, "Oww!" Booth's guiding hand encircled her waist to steady her.

"Careful, Bones!" Booth cautioned her. Brennan's nearest arm wrapped around Booth. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder and made an unintelligible, pain-filled noise. She sucked in a deep breath of cold night air said through closed eyes and gritted teeth, "I've twisted my ankle."

"Can you walk?" Booth asked her with concern flooding his voice.

"Give me a moment," she said, still clinging to him. She was holding her right foot off the ground. "The sting of it should pass momentarily. Once it does, I'll be able to give you a reasonable answer."

"Okay, try to relax," Booth said to the top of her head, holding her steady. They stood still for a few moments while she waited for the initial pain to subside.

"Well, that seems to driven away my fatigue," Brennan said as she straightened up, although she kept her arm around Booth's waist. Booth saw her jaw was still set firmly against the pain. He maintained a steady grip on her as she tested her ankle. With her toes resting lightly on the ground, she grimaced as she pushed her boot heel down and shook her head. She quickly lifted her foot again until just her toes were touching the ground.

"Don't push it. We're not far from the car. Lean on me, and we'll get you there," Booth said. Brennan nodded and blinked back the tears welling in her eyes. With Booth's support, she managed a few steps, but grimaced. Each hopping step sent shock waves of pain through her foot.

"You've tensed your whole body, Bones. It's going to hurt with every step that way," Booth said. "You need to relax and just let it hang there."

"If I could, I would, Booth," Brennan said scowling, instantly sorry for venting her pain and frustration on him.

"That's it. Up you come," Booth said as he swept her feet out from under her with his free hand.

"Booth, put me down!" Brennan insisted. "I can make it!" Brennan recanted her silent regret and rapped her closed fist on Booth's chest several times to emphasize her point.

"Yes, you can. But you don't have to. Now relax, and let the pain subside," Booth instructed. Brennan glared at him for a moment, and then she slowly relax against him.

"That's better," he said with a nod. Booth gingerly picked his way over the uneven ground to the car.

"You're very stubborn," Brennan said, as she rested her head against his shoulder, pleasantly surprised to realize Booth was right about the pain. It had diminished once she let herself relax.

"So are you," Booth chided her gently. Brennan nodded.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," Brennan whispered up to Booth as he gently set her back on her good foot beside the car.

Booth smiled and said, "I know." Inches apart, they stared into one another's eyes.

An eternity later, or so it seemed, Booth opened the car door, breaking their reverie. He helped her slide into the passenger seat, taking care not to jostle her injured ankle. Booth shut the door. He took several deep breaths of cool night air as he walked around the car to join her. The feel of the forest and smell of the leaf litter reminded him of his FBI Academy training. He could almost smell the gunpowder on the firing range again. _'Quantico! The FBI Academy!'_ Booth thought and stopped in his tracks. He looked straight at Brennan through the windshield, and then jogged the rest of the way to his door.

"Bones!" Booth exclaimed excitedly as he climbed in the car, shutting the door behind him. "This park is just north of the FBI Academy! This guy's got big brass ones," Booth said shaking his head, eyes wide.

"Big brass whats?" Brennan asked, confused.

"Never mind, what's important is that he murdered and then dumped a federally secured witness in the FBI's backyard. The Academy can't be more than 5 miles from here, as a crow flies," Booth said pointing towards the southwest. "He's taunting us. He's making this personal. I don't think it's a coincidence that he left the body here."

"What do you mean, Booth?" Brennan asked as Booth started the car.

"I'm not entirely sure yet, Bones. But we're gonna find out," he said.


	13. No Problem

13. No Problem

Booth navigated the car slowly and carefully out of the park, attempting to minimize the bumps for Brennan's sake. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into a parking space outside of a hotel. Brennan was leaning back in her seat with her eyes closed.

Booth looked over at Brennan who was appeared asleep. He gently touched her shoulder. When her eyes fluttered open, he said, "Stay put. I'll get us checked in, and then I'll help you to the room, okay?"

Brennan nodded and reached up to squeeze Booth's hand briefly in thanks. When the car door shut, she closed her eyes again. She heard Booth open the back of the car and felt the cool air creep towards her. When he shut the lift gate, it latched with a 'whumpf,' and the cold air rushed forward. She snuggled deeper into her clothes. The pleasant sensation of breathing cool air while her body slowly warmed the space around her nearly lulled her to sleep. Unfortunately, her ankle was throbbing. Sleep wouldn't come quite that easily.

In the meantime, Booth checked them in with the front desk and secured the bags in their room. He tucked a key card in his pocket and headed out to the car. Brennan's head rested against the window, her eyes were closed. Booth thought she might have fallen asleep. He tapped on the window lightly, not wanting her to fall out if he simply opened the door. To his surprise, she turned her head immediately. Her eyes were open and she offered him a weak smiled. She opened the door and swung her legs to the ground, wincing a bit as she did so.

"No way, Bones. Don't put any weight on it yet. Let's get you inside and get that boot off. We need to get some ice on it and get it elevated," Booth said. His hands motioned for her to continue sitting.

Brennan gave him a saucy look and asked, "You're going to carry me again?"

Booth nodded." But first," Booth said, pushing the door open wider, "I need to grab the pressure bandage out of the first aid kit. It's under your seat."

Brennan began twisting to reach for the kit at the same time Booth leaned into the car to reach for it. They both made a startled noise, and narrowly avoided butting heads. Brennan shifted closer to the seat back at the same moment Booth made the same decision, leaving them nose to nose.

"Hold still, Bones, I'll get it," Booth said quietly.

His breath was warm against her cheek. Brennan nibbled on her bottom lip and nodded, unable to speak. She sat still as Booth leaned slightly forward in the car so he could extract the first aid kit. He lifted it and placed in her lap. She watched him silently open the case and retrieve the bandage. Their eyes locked again when he shut it. Brennan slid the kit off her lap and set it on the floor of the car. Then she draped both arms around Booth's neck. She felt Booth tense at her touch. She felt a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Aren't you going to pick me up, Booth?" She asked coyly.

Booth cleared his throat and quietly said, "Yeah."

Booth pulled his keys from his pocket and slipped one arm behind Brennan, the other under her knees. He lifted her gently from the car, pushed the door shut with his foot, and locked the car. Brennan grabbed the keys from his hand, and he carried her to the room.

Once in the room, Booth set her down on the double bed farthest from the door. Brennan surveyed the room and noticed both their bags sitting on the small table in front of the window. She smiled as she glanced from the bags to Booth. He ran his hand through his hair and stared at his feet.

"They only had one room left, Booth said quickly. But, we're good. Two beds. No problem."

"No problem," Brennan repeated.

Booth knelt down beside Brennan and began pulling down the zipper of her right boot. "We need to get this off," he told her.

"I know. Thank you," Brennan said sincerely.

Booth gently freed her foot from the boot, hating that he was causing her pain in the process. He watched her chew her bottom lip, but she didn't cry out. "These boots weren't made for wilderness hikes," he said lightly.

"You have astute powers of observation, Agent Booth," Brennan said through gritted teeth. "At least they don't have stiletto heels."

"Special Agent." Booth said slowly, smiling. "Yea, that could have been bad." He removed her other boot quickly, and lifted both her legs up onto the bed. "I'm going to get some ice for that ankle. It's not bruising. That's a good sign.

"Booth, could you actually help me to the bathroom before you go?" Brennan asked.

"Yea, of course. Do you want to try to walk on it at all?" he asked.

"Not really," she admitted. "If I've torn anything, weight bearing isn't a great idea."

"Okay, back up you go," he said, and then lifted her. He set her down outside the bathroom door. "I'll be back in flash. Just wait here, and I'll get you back to bed when I get back."

"Thanks, Booth," Brennan said. She cupped his cheek with her hand, then let it drop and shuffled into the bathroom, using the counter for support, and closed the door.

When Booth returned to the room, he heard water running in the bathroom. He set the ice bucket down on the dresser, found the pressure bandaged and placed it beside the bucket, and then turned on the television set. Booth shrugged out of his jacket, removed his tie, and hung them up in the small closet alcove near the bathroom.

"Booth?" Brennan called from the bathroom, over the running water. "Would you bring me my bag, please?"

Booth crossed the room in a few strides and returned with her bag. He tapped on the door. She opened it and took the bag. Booth raised one arm over his head and leaned on the door frame to peer into the bathroom behind her. "You're going to take a bath?" he asked her.

She nodded and said, "Yes."

"A hot bath is the last thing your ankle needs right now, Bones. You need to ice it."

"I also need to wash away the dust, dirt, and smell of three weeks of decomposition," she replied evenly.

"Three weeks?" Booth asked.

"Three weeks is consisted with my initial observations, and it is also the length of time Sinclair has been missing," she replied still standing in the doorway. "Of course we won't know for certain until we fully analyze the remains. However, it seemed a conversational thing to say without distorting the facts as we now know them," she said with a smile. "I really should get off the ankle, Booth. I won't be too long."

"Conversational? Since when do you make conversational assumptions about a case, even with me--especially with me?" Booth asked.

Brennan raised an eyebrow and took a deep breath before providing him an accurate explanation. Booth silenced her before she could begin by placing his finger on her lips and said, "Rhetorical question, Bones. Rhetorical. Take your bath and call me when you're ready," he said.

Brennan froze when he touched her lips. His finger trailed gently down her chin as he finished speaking. When she realized she was holding her breath, she let it out slowly, smiled and held his eyes with hers until she pushed the door shut.

Booth shook his head as he walked away from the bathroom door. He removed his holster and secured his gun in the drawer of the bedside table that was situated along the wall between the beds. He kicked off his shoes and settled himself on the bed nearest the door. Once he found a sports channel, Booth closed his eyes, waiting for Brennan to call for him. He tried very hard to not imagine her in the bath and failed miserably.

Instead, he turned his thoughts to how he would help her identify her own feelings. He had been developing a plan during the last part of the drive to the Park, but he pushed all thoughts of it aside once they were on the job. Now that they were off the job, he let his mind wander back to her words in the car just before he pulled off the road. They were imprinted in his memory. She had asked him what his definition of love was, since it could mean like, enjoyment, passion, fidelity, desire, and of course sex. His half-formed plan was hopefully going to make her apply all of those definitions to her feelings for him. But as much as he was looking forward to the last item on her list, he was much more interested having her admit to the others. Once she did, the last would take care of itself.


	14. Dreamers Awake

14. Dreamers Awake

Brennan called his name twice before she gave up and hobbled out of the bathroom to make her way carefully into the room, using the wall and dresser for support. She was able to put only a fraction of her weight on her injured ankle without causing too much pain. Booth was right again, it was swelling after her bath. He was stretched out on the first bed. His arms were tucked behind his head, his mouth slightly ajar. He was sound asleep with the remote control on his chest.

She noticed he left the ice bucket and pressure bandage on the dresser. She gently picked up the remote and switched off the television. Booth mumbled something in his sleep, but settled immediately and rolled on his side. He tucked one arm under the pillow and curled the other under his chin. She sat on the edge of the other bed and simply watched him for a little while. His face held no hint of the stresses they faced that day. Brennan felt a sudden urge to see this relaxed, peaceful expression on his face while he was awake. Most of the time, he was either serious or silly. But this peaceful Booth was not one she saw often enough. She pulled the extra blanket from the foot of the bed up to his shoulders and gently tucked it around him.

Brennan iced her ankle for 15 minutes while she mentally reviewed her initial observations of the remains. The lighting was poor, but she was certain the victim was male and most likely 30 to 45 years old, which was consistent with Sinclair. The level of decomposition and scavenger activity removed a significant portion of the flesh, allowing her enough access to the pelvic bones and skull to feel satisfied with her gender determination. DNA results would be conclusive, but that was Cam's area. Perhaps the file Agent Harkness promised to send would contain enough information to confirm identity from dental records. That would be significantly quicker than waiting for the DNA results. However, nothing could be accomplished tonight other than sleep.

Brennan crawled into the bed before she realized the lights were controlled by a switch near the door. She tossed the covers aside and hobbled to the door to turn off the lights and carefully made her way back to her bed.

She lay facing Booth with only a few feet separating their beds, and fell asleep listening to the slow steady rhythm of his breathing.

***************

Booth woke and immediately realized he was not home. He sat up quickly and scanned the darkness around him. From his left he heard the clicking of what could only be a hotel heater and the dim red glow of a digital clock. 5:26. And something else. Breathing. Someone was in the room. Bones. Memory flooded back to him and he relaxed a bit. He watched her dark form slowly rise and fall with each breath. He pulled off the blanket he didn't remember unfolding and tossed it aside. Not much sleep. He chastised himself for falling asleep while she was still in the bath. His eyes quickly made sense of the other dark shapes in the room, the dresser, the television set. He rose, grabbed his bag, and headed to the bathroom. He hung his slept-in suit pants in the bathroom, hoping the shower steam would release the wrinkles. He showered quickly, shaved, brushed his teeth, and dressed more casually in the jeans and t-shirt he kept in his overnight bag.

Brennan lay still curled under the covers. He could just make out her form in the dim light cascading from the bathroom into the darkened bedroom. The clock read 5:58. She had a smile on her face and her hair was loose partially obscuring her face. Booth decided to let her sleep, but couldn't stop himself from brushing the hair back from her cheek.

***************

In her dream state, Brennan was snuggled against a warm, distinctly male, body that smelled familiar. The man brushed her hair back from her face and lowered his lips to hers for a warm, inviting kiss.

***************

Booth wrote a quick note in his note pad and tore the sheet free. He laid it on her cell phone, certain she would see it there Brennan began to stir as Booth released the note. Her arms were wrapped around a pillow and she sighed contentedly. Booth smiled as he watched her dreaming.

***************

As Booth let the door close behind him on his way out of the room, Brennan awoke from her very pleasant dream. She rubbed her eyes and looked around, sensing that she had heard something. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she finally realized Booth's bed was empty. She sat up and swung her legs to the floor. As she reached for her cell phone, she brushed a slip of paper which fluttered to the floor. Picking it up and squinting in the semi-darkness she just made out the words. Bones, I'm getting breakfast. Back before 6:30. She turned on her phone and checked her messages.


	15. Breakfast

15. Breakfast

Booth returned to the room while Brennan was still in the bathroom. He dropped a bag of ice beside the dresser and then placed two large cups of coffee and a nondescript white bag on the table. He was waiting for his laptop to boot up when she opened the bathroom door.

"How're you feeling this morning?" he asked with concern while he closed the distance between them.

"Mm, it's not too bad. The bath last night made my ankle swell a bit, but the ice helped. I wrapped it and it doesn't hurt as much today," she told him.

"Well, don't overdo it today, okay?" he chided, but it sounded more like an order.

"Yes, doctor Seeley," Brennan said smartly.

He met her eyes and said, "I'm sorry I fell asleep."

"It's fine, Booth. I can take care of myself," Brennan replied evenly.

Booth raised an eyebrow before saying, "I know you can, Bones. It's got nothing to do with your abilities. I just don't like to see you in pain. Is there anything wrong with that?"

She searched his eyes briefly then shook her head and said, "No. I would have to say I reciprocate that feeling. I don't like to see you in pain either."

"Glad we agree on that," Booth said, smiling brightly. He extended his arm to her and said, "Breakfast awaits, Bones." She took his arm and let him support her during the few steps to the table. They both sat at the table, and Brennan opened the bag. After peering inside, Brennan looked up and said, "Yum, cheese danish. Where's yours?" she asked him with a grin.

"Very funny, Bones," Booth smirked. "You cut," he said, handing her a plastic knife. "I'll get the file pulled up. We have an hour or so before your grid search. So, we might as well do some research."

The danish was huge. She split it down the middle and placed half in front of Booth while he retrieved a small bottle from his pocket.

"Doctor Seeley has also prescribed a little something for pain and inflammation." He placed the small pill bottle on the table in front of Brennan. "Ibuprofen, for your ankle."

Brennan tilted the bottle to read the label. "Perfect, thanks."

"And more ice," he said pointing to the bag. She took two pills with a swallow of coffee. Her mouth puckered and she closed her eyes.

"Ew, the pills just melted in the coffee, didn't they?" Booth asked wrinkling his nose. Brennan just nodded and took another sip of coffee, swishing it around in her mouth, eyes closed.

"Ugh, you would think I would know better than that," she said, her eyes still closed.

"Here. Have a bite of danish," Booth said holding a plastic fork in front of her mouth with a bit-sized portion speared on the end.

Brennan rolled her eyes and snatched the fork away from Booth. "Really, Booth, I'm not an invalid."

Booth fixed her an ice pack, and then shifted his chair closer to Brennan's so they could both view the laptop and Agent Harkness' case file while they ate.


	16. The Blue Line

_This chapter was written before Fire in the Ice aired. Please excuse any perceived discrepancy. _

16 The Blue Line

An hour and a half later, Booth's phone rang. He glanced at his watch and then answered, "Booth." He listened for a moment and glanced at Brennan. "Right. Go ahead and get started. We'll be there in 30 minutes or so."

Closing his phone, Booth turned in his chair to face Brennan. "Local sheriff has a team assembled for your grid search. Let's wrap it up here and get out there." Brennan gave him a nod and began cleaning up the remainder of breakfast while Booth powered down the laptop. They packed quickly even though Brennan was still favoring her ankle. Twenty minutes later they were checked out and heading down the road back towards the Park and the mine.

"This case is troubling, Booth. On the surface it seems straightforward, but the evidence can be construed to impart at least complicity, if not outright conspiracy involving law enforcement, political figures, and known criminals. Sinclair had organized crime ties and was the key witness against Harris Peterson, formerly with the CIA. However, the CIA will neither acknowledge his status beyond confirming he is a former employee nor divulge any information regarding his prior position or his assignments," Brennan pondered aloud.

"Yea, they're closing up ranks," Booth agreed. "Peterson's case isn't scheduled for trial yet, but I can't help but feel that the case against him will hinge on whether or not we can figure out who killed Sinclair by then.

"You don't know that for certain, Booth. Harkness has a very strong circumstantial case so far," Brennan replied.

"Yea, but circumstantial isn't enough to loosen tongues at the CIA, or get any one to cross the blue line, especially since no other major players have come forward," Booth said glancing towards Brennan. He could see puzzlement on her face and waited for her to give it voice.

"What's a blue line? Brennan asked. "I would have said it has something to do with hockey, but I'm fairly certain I don't understand the reference in this context," she explained.

"Hockey? I'm surprised you know there are blue lines in hockey, Bones," Booth told, genuinely impressed.

"It's hard to miss that you're a Flyers fan. I couldn't fathom a game played on ice skates with long sticks – it seems counter intuitive – so I looked it up.

Booth grinned. "I am impressed. But, to answer your question, a blue line in this case is about cops. They tend to stand together one of them is accused of wrongdoing. They don't like it when their own Internal Affairs departments investigate them, and they really don't like it when the feds step in. Sinclair accused a lot of cops of helping Peterson and taking bribes."

"I still don't understand what that has to do with a blue line," Brennan said.

"Most cops wear blue uniforms. When they literally stand together they form a blue line. That's all," Booth said.

"Oh," Brennan said simply. Then she giggled. "Blue line," she continued giggling. Booth clenched his teeth while she laughed at the blue line reference. When she finally composed herself, she studied Booth's profile for a moment. "Do you think a cop did this to Sinclair then?"

"Leaping to conclusions?" Booth asked with surprise and glanced at Brennan.

"No. I was simply trying to figure out why you were concerned with the blue line, so I thought I would posit a scenario. It's faulty logic, but if a cop wanted to conceal his involvement with Peterson, he might think killing Sinclair could offer some amount of protection," Brennan explained.

"And, if he knows anything about Peterson's operation, and if we can find the links, then we can solve two cases for the price of one," Booth said smiling and tapping two fingers on the steering wheel.

"But of course, this is all just conjecture right now," Brennan replied. "We really should focus on confirming the identification first."

"That's all you and the squints, Bones. All I've got right now is conjecture. At least until we conduct some interviews and find some more facts," Booth said while pulling into the Park.

"Oh, the squints! I need to call Cam," Brennan said pulling out her phone.


	17. Plans & Preparations

17. Plans and Preparations

"Saroyan," Cam answered her phone, coffee in hand.

"Good morning Cam, it's Brennan."

"Good morning, Dr. Brennan. To what do I owe the honor?" she asked with a touch of sarcasm.

"I'm sorry I didn't call earlier, Cam. I won't be in this morning. We caught a case last night. Booth and I are in Quantico," Brennan said.

"So, anything for us yet?" she asked, sounding interested.

"Not yet, but hopefully soon. Single victim, male, 30-45. Undetermined cause of death. The remains still have some flesh for you, but there was ample scavenger activity. Preliminarily, I put time of death at 2 to 4 weeks. I collected what I could last night, and I'm heading back now to supervise a grid search for the rest. I believe we can get you the remains by mid-day. Can you clear the schedule for this one?" she asked.

"Can do. Is this related to the Peterson file that showed up in my in-box this morning?" Cam asked.

"Yes, I believe it is. We've been asked to confirm the victim's identity. A billfold found near the remains belongs to a Mark Sinclair, the federal prosecutor's key witness in the Peterson case. Also, a Special Agent Tom Harkness should be sending a medical file over on Sinclair to make identification easier," Brennan informed her.

"All righty then," Cam said. "Sounds like identification should be as easy as they get around here. I'll get started on the tox screen once the remains arrive. If we're lucky, we can confirm the ID before you get back."

"I hope so," Brennan agreed. "We'll get the remains to you as soon as possible, along with a few soil samples for Hodgins."

"Looking forward to it," Cam said and hung up.

***

Booth parked the car as close as he could the site. "Are you going to be okay walking around out here?" Booth asked before shutting off the engine.

"I should be fine, Booth. The ibuprofen seems to be working," she told him.

"Oookay, we'll see. But, I'm carrying your bag. No arguments," He said while waggling an accusatory finger towards her.

"Fine," she said, opening the car door.

Booth was fully prepared to argue with her about it, but her agreement caught him off guard. He dropped his hand and said, "Good."

He shut off the engine, retrieved her gear from the back of the car, and escorted her to the temporary command tent that had been erected nearby. Brennan immediately assumed control at the tent. Booth caught her eyes with his, pointed at his phone, and indicated he was heading outside of the tent to make a call. Brennan caught his meaning, nodded at him and returned her full attention to the searchers. She provided detailed search instructions to the assembled team. After a answering a few questions, Brennan sent them on their way and sat down to wait for any finds. Booth rejoined her once the tent was nearly empty.

"I figured you would try to go out there with them," Booth said as he sat on the edge of the table in front of Brennan.

"There's no point. We have plenty of volunteers, and this part of the job isn't difficult. I'll go out if anyone finds something questionable or if recovery is difficult," she said leaning her elbows on the table and yawning as she pressed her forehead against her clasped hands.

"Tired?" Booth asked with a tenderness in his voice. She nodded, crossed her arms on the table, and looked up at him. "Too tired to help me interview Karen Cole?"

She blinked and stifled another yawn before saying, "Not at all. In fact, I think having something to do while they search would help immensely."

"Great. She's on her way up here now. I called her while you were sorting out the troops," he said.

"Where are we going tonight?" she asked him. Booth looked completely confused at her non sequitur. She registered his confusion and explained. "You said we were going out at 7 the night we get home, right? That should be tonight."

"Oh, right." Booth thought quickly before responding. "Well, if you're still feeling up to it, I was thinking we should go someplace we haven't been in a while. Wong Fu's sound good to you?" he asked.

"Mmh, that does sound good. I haven't actually seen Sid in months," she agreed, nodding.

"He'll know exactly what we need, and it's quiet there. We can talk," he said, leaning towards her across the table

"We're talking now, aren't we?" she asked, looking up at him, closing the distance between them.

"Not about—that—though. We'll talk about—that—tonight," he said with intensity.

"Whatever you say, Booth," Brennan said with a sly smile.

The sound of someone clearing a throat caused both Booth and Brennan's heads to swivel towards the sound. A slim olive-complexioned woman in her thirties with short brunette hair stood at the edge of the tent in a Ranger uniform.


	18. Karen Cole

18 Karen Cole

"Ehem," a voice called into the tent. "Am I interruptin' something?" the Ranger asked with a curious expression and a decidedly southern accent drawing out her vowels.

"Not at all," Booth replied as he stood up. "You must be Karen Cole," She nodded briefly and walked under the tent roof to join them. "I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, and this," he said gesturing across the table to Brennan, "is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian." Booth shook Cole's hand, who then offered hers to Brennan.

"Pleased to meet you both," Cole said as Brennan shook her hand. "Miles filled me in last night. I can't tell you what a surprise this has been. We don't usually have trouble like this out here." Cole's accent was strong. Miles came out more like 'Mahls.'

"It's never expected," Brennan said politely.

"No, I expect not," Cole said. "So, how may I help your investigation?"

Booth glanced around the tent and pulled up two more mesh fabric folding chairs to the table, across from Brennan. "Please have a seat and join us," Booth invited. He waited for Cole to sit and then settled himself in the remaining chair. "Can you tell us how often your Rangers patrol this area?"

"Certainly," Cole said sweetly. I rotate Rangers daily out here to the Cabin Branch Pyrite Mine, although no one runs the same patrols more than once a week if I can manage it."

"Why is that?" Brennan asked.

"I find the variety in work assignments keeps everyone fresher and more interested in their work. Fresh eyes on an area are more likely to see things we should address. It's easy to overlook small changes. But by spacing out the frequency of a given Ranger's visit, I find they are more likely to notice and report problems," Cole explained.

"Is that a personal observation based on your work here, or in general?" Booth asked.

"Both, Agent Booth. When I took over this post, the Rangers primarily were assigned to certain regions of the preserve. The prevailing theory was that familiarity with an area was more important. When I had Rangers cover other areas during leaves of absence, I found reports of little things like uncollected trash. I decided to rotate the schedules as I had done in my prior position. Worked like a charm," she beamed.

"And where were you posted prior to coming here to Prince William Forest?" Booth asked.

"Congaree National Park near Columbia, South Carolina," Cole said proudly. "I transferred to Prince William three years ago."

"You're from Carolina originally?" Brennan asked.

"Oh yes, I grew up in the Lowcounty," Cole offered.

"Lovely area," Brennan said.

"Yes it is," Cole agreed.

"You said this is an old pyrite mine?" Booth asked, redirecting their discussion.

"Indeed. The concrete slabs you see out there are the sealed shafts," she said gesturing towards the river bounding the northern border of the park. "It's completely safe for visitors," Cole said.

"Fool's gold," Brennan said. "Well, iron sulfite, actually."

"That's right, Dr. Brennan," Cole said sounding pleased.

"Fool's gold, why would anyone mine something worthless?" Booth remarked.

"That's a common misconception, Agent Booth. In the late 1800s and early 1900s when it was mined here, it was a primary source of sulfur, which was used in all manner of manufactured goods—glass, soap, textiles, paper, medicine, gunpowder, the list goes on," Cole explained.

"Huh," Booth verbalized, nodding interestedly.

"Do you know Mark Sinclair or Harris Peterson?" Brennan asked.

"No, I'm afraid I only know Mr. Sinclair's name because of the wallet found. I have no idea who Mr. Peterson is," Cole replied.

"Tell us about Miles Addison," Booth said. "How long has he worked here?"

"Miles has been here about six years, I believe. He is good at his job and has an excellent service record. If it's important, I could pull his file for you," Cole offered.

"We would appreciate it. Everything is important at the stage of an investigation. In fact, I would like to see the files of all the Rangers who have worked here in the last six months," Booth replied.

"I can arrange that for you," Cole asked.

"Do you also have a visitor's log?" Booth asked.

"Yes, we do. It's voluntary, however. So it may not be relevant," Cole said.

"What about surveillance cameras?" Booth asked.

"We do have cameras in the gatehouse, where visitors buy their passes. And, there are a couple at the office, but none throughout the preserve," Cole replied.

"We're going to need the gate recordings for the past month," Booth said.

"Would you care to return to the office with me?" Cole asked.

Booth glanced at Brennan who said, "Go ahead, Booth. I'm fine here. I'm sure the remains will start coming in shortly, at which point I would to ask Ms. Cole to leave anyway."

"Call me if you're finished here before I come back," Booth said with a smile and stood up.

Cole also stood and shook hands again with Brennan across the table as she said, "It was good to meet you Dr. Brennan."

"Forgive me for not standing. I twisted my ankle last night," Brennan said.

"Bless your heart. Don't you worry about it, sugar. I'll send Agent Booth back to you in two shakes," Cole said sweetly.

"That's really not necessary, Ms. Cole," Brennan said. To Booth, she continued, "Take your time and get what you need."

"You know I will, Bones," Booth said. "But I still want you to call if you're done and I'm not back." He grinned and crossed his arms in front of him.

"See you later, Booth," Brennan said with emphasis on later. He grinned and backed out of the tent after Ranger Cole.


	19. Cooperation

19. Cooperation

Booth followed Ranger Cole back to her office at the visitor's center. He parked beside her and followed her inside. They made small talk while she led him through the building to a small break room.

"Would you care for a drink, coffee, Agent Booth?" Cole asked as she reached for a cup.

"Sure, I'll take one," Booth answered. Booth joined her at the counter and poured coffee from the half-filled carafe into the waiting cups.

"May I ask you a question unrelated to your investigation, Agent Booth?" Cole queried as she added creamer to her cup.

"Sure," Booth replied. "I might even answer it," he said.

"Why did you call your partner 'Bones'?" she asked.

Booth grinned to himself as he realized he had been explaining her nickname often lately. "I'll answer that one. Dr. Brennan is a forensic anthropologist. She studies bones all day long."

"I see," Cole said. "Well, it certain fits in a way. For some reason, I kept wondering on the drive down whether it was you or she who was a Star Trek fan."

"Ah, no. Wrong type of doctor," Booth said with a chuckle. "Wait, you're a Star Trek fan?"

"I've attended a convention or two, strange as that may seem," Cole replied.

"I suppose I've seen stranger things," he said.

"Sorry for that tangent. Let me get started on those files you need," Cole said leading him to her office. "You'll need copies of the personnel files for the past six months, the visitor's log, and the surveillance footage for the past month, right?" she asked as she turned on her computer and indicated a chair for Booth.

"Yes, please."

"We're mostly digital now, would you prefer copies or email?"

"Email would be great," he said, retrieving a business card from his pocket. He placed it on her desk and slid it towards her.

She picked up the card and propped it beside her monitor. "Please make yourself comfortable while I get this going," she said and began typing.

"Not a problem, Ms. Cole. I appreciate you meeting with us this morning and taking the time to do this," Booth said, leaning back in the chair and swinging his right ankle over his left leg at the knee. Booth sipped his coffee while he waited for Cole to process his request.

Cole was focused on her computer. She typed quickly but steadily for at least ten minutes. She paused occasionally to sip her own coffee and offer Booth a smile that conveyed thanks for his patience. When she finished, she pushed her chair back from her desk and swiveled it slightly to face Booth.

"There," Cole said pleasantly. "I've forwarded you the files I have available from here. I've also sent requests to personnel for the employment files. And, I chatted with our tech, who will send you the relevant surveillance video files. That just leaves the visitor's log, which is out in the reception area. We can make copies of that before you head back, or I can have someone here scan and send it to you."

"That was quick, thanks," Booth said.

"I promised Dr. Brennan two shakes, and I think I made it under the wire," Cole said, flashing him a smiling.

"No doubt," Booth replied. "I appreciate you expediting all this."

"Happy to help, Agent Booth. I'd like to get this matter resolved as quickly as possible so my park can get back to normal," she said.

"In that case, why don't you just have someone copy and send me the visitor log. I'll get back to Dr. Brennan and start reviewing what you sent. My laptop is in the car," he said.

"Right this way," she said standing.


	20. Addiction

20. Addiction

Brennan watched Booth depart with a smile on her face. Karen Cole could keep him on his toes if he gave her half a chance. She stood slowly after their cars pulled away. Taking her time and moving carefully, she walked around the table to test her ankle. Satisfied it would hold, at least for a while, she turned her attention to laying out everything she would need when the searchers returned with the recovered remains. Once the evidence bags, sample containers, log books, digital camera, and the packaging materials were ready, she sat down again. All the local law enforcement at the site were participating in the search, the preparatory work was done, and Brennan was alone with her thoughts.

The forest was mostly quiet, although occasional chatter reached her ears from the nearest searchers. Instead of pondering the case, Brennan reviewed the past twelve hours of her life. She had made a pass at her partner, her best friend, and been turned down. Not because he wasn't interested, but because he was. And before they could truly discuss the matter, they were called away for this case. Being who they were, neither of them would let the matter alone. He prodded her to reveal her motives, and she had turned the tables on him. A familiar pattern of events, she had to admit.

Then she had to go and twist her ankle. She knew Booth understood she was an independent and capable person. She was just as certain he was enjoying every minute of her being at less than one hundred percent. Truthfully, she was enjoying it more than she could have imagined. She had come to rely on him in almost every aspect of her life, and having a reason to be physically closer to him was quite pleasant. The unfortunate side effect was that her dignity suffered for it.

She wondered what Booth had planned beyond dinner. Inevitably, he would want to talk about their non-relationship; although she was concerned she set him on an impossible task. She had thrown dictionary definitions of love at him, which was completely unfair. She knew the feelings most people labeled as love were simply a drug induced state of mind brought on by a cocktail phenylethylamine, oxytocin, dopamine, norepinephrine, and endorphins. The release of phenylethylamine triggers elevated heart rate, euphoria, and, occasionally, sweaty palms. Oxcytocin joins phenylethylamine in the system, causing a craving for physical touch. Dopamine produces more euphoric sensations, and norephinephrine stimulates adrenalin production, which intensifies the effects of all the others. The more time spent with a person who triggers the release of these chemicals, the more addicted a person becomes to the chemicals and subsequently to the person triggering the chemical release. Sadly, she suspected Booth would not find that explanation satisfactory.

Booth had been causing chemical reactions in her for quite some time now. Not all the time, of course. They worked side by side as colleagues with no problem. It was mostly during their talks late at night, after cases, and between assignments when she felt these effects. Apparently, he too had been similarly effected. Everyone close to them seemed to have noticed, but neither she nor Booth were willing to verbally acknowledge it, until now. Their partnership was far too important to both of them to risk it by indulging in fleeting moments and feelings. But it had been years now, and these sensations were not going away. They had been through much together, and for each other. Surely, Brennan rationalized, their partnership could grow to include a more intimate relationship.

This was not the first time Brennan had been through this with herself. There would always be some amount of risk, but Booth had shown her that with risk, there comes reward. She was determined to find a way to explain her addiction to him in terms he would understand, but she had been at a loss to find it.

She leaned back in the chair and lifted her still tender ankle to rest upon the table while she continued to ponder her problem. Maybe the addiction angle would work. She could explain her addiction in terms he would understand. He'd dealt with an unhealthy addiction in the past, although she certainly wouldn't classify her drug of choice as unhealthy. Finally, she thought to herself, "Hello, my name is Tempe and I'm a Booth addict." Brennan promptly dissolved into a fit of uncontrolled giggling. Remotely, she realized a dose of dopamine must have entered her system.


	21. Complicated

21 Complicated

Karen Cole sized up the handsome agent as he walked out of her office. "That man is definite date potential," she thought. She was uncertain as to what she had interrupted earlier when she walked into the tent where Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth were waiting earlier. She hadn't overheard them, but their body language spoke volumes. "Oh well, it can't hurt to let him know I like what I see," she mused to herself. Besides, maybe they were just discussing the case.

She followed him out into the reception area and left instructions with the receptionist, Christie Farra, to scan and send the visitor's log to Agent Booth. While she spoke to Christie, Booth noticed a bus pulled up outside of the visitors center and several dozen elementary school students flooded out of it and into the small lobby around them with their chaperons trying to keep them together.

"Sorry about this, Agent Booth," Cole apologized over the din of the children. "It seems we have a tour group today."

"I can see that," Booth said with a look of pleasure on his face as he observed the excited children.

Cole noticed Booth's expression and thought to herself, _"Well, he likes kids. That's another plus in his column."_ To Booth, she said, "Don't worry. We'll keep the tour well clear of the the Pyrite Mine until you and Dr. Brennan clear the scene."

One of the adults who entered with the children approached Ranger Cole. He was tall, fair haired, and slightly overweight with ruddy skin. "Excuse me. Is there something wrong in the Park? We saw a few police cars on the way in."

With a glance at Agent Booth, Cole replied in low tones, "Actually, sir, there is one section of the Park that will be off limits during your tour due to a law enforcement investigation at the Cabin Branch Pyrite Mine. Please let me assure you, there is no danger to the children."

"Can you tell me what sort of investigation? These are fifth-graders. I really don't want them seeing anything a parent might consider inappropriate," the man said.

Booth nodded to Cole before she asked the man, "Perhaps we could speak in my office then?" The man agreed and turned to follow her. Booth accompanied them in case he could assist in the explanation. When they arrived in her office, Cole shut the door behind everyone. "I'm Karen Cole, supervising Ranger at Prince William Forest Park."

The man shook her hand and identified himself in turn, "Ranger Cole. Thank you for speaking with me privately. My name is Dennis Herron. I'm a science teacher at River Oaks Elementary. We have two classes of children here today, and I just want to ensure that everything is safe for them to enjoy the park, and to ensure that I won't have dozens of angry parents sending threatening emails to me and the principal.

"Mr. Herron, the Cabin Branch Pyrite Mine section of the park will be closed to your tour. One of my Rangers discovered something out at the old mine that has become part of an FBI investigation. The gentleman beside you is Special Agent Seeley Booth of the FBI, who is leading the investigation," she told him candidly.

"Oh, my," Herron said. "May I ask what was found?"

Booth indicated he would field that question. "Mr. Herron, I would prefer not to disclose the nature of the investigation at this point," Booth began, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

Cole stepped around them with an "Excuse me," to open the door slightly, then stepped into the hallway momentarily. She spoke in hushed tones with person on the other side of the door before returning.

"It seems the press is here, Agent Booth. I don't think we'll be able to keep this completely under wraps at this point," she told Booth.

"Great," Booth said dejectedly. Turning his focus back to Herron, he said, "Well, Mr. Herron, since it seems the press has caught this story, you get your answer." Herron looked curiously relieved and concerned at the same time.

"Late yesterday evening, human remains were discovered near the Pyrite Mine site. The remains are estimated to be several weeks old. Recovery is continuing this morning, and should be concluded sometime today," Booth said.

Herron sat down heavily at the news. "Oh, this is awful."

"It is; but my partner has the recovery under control. There is no reason for concern and nothing for the children to fear. If they comment on the police presence, just tell them there is an investigation at the site and redirect their attention. There are plenty of other things to occupy them at the park, right Ms. Cole?"

"Absolutely. There are actually several exhibits here that we can start the children on. They may never notice anything out of the ordinary.

"Thank you for your candor," Herron said quietly. "You're right. There's no need to disrupt the trip so long as we aren't exposed to... to...."

"You won't be," Cole said kindly. "Please trust me. This park is safe. The victim was not a park visitor. Our guests are in no danger. And please, don't tell the children anything unless you must. There are so many other things to fill their minds with."

Herron nodded and thanked them before excusing himself to rejoin his group.

"Hm, that didn't go too well," Cole said, re-closing the door to her office.

"As well as it could. He'll do the right thing," Booth said.

"I hope you're right," Cole said quietly.

"Of course I am. You'll see.

"I intend to hold you to that," Cole said with a lightness returning to her voice. "Because, if it isn't, I think I deserve at least a dinner, don't you?"

"Dinner?" Booth squeaked, and then chuckled. "I'm afraid I'd have to make it up to you in a more official manner than that, Ms. Cole."

"Oh, you're seeing someone?" she asked.

"Ah, yes, er, no," Booth sighed. "It's complicated."

Cole's expression changed from slightly dejected to highly amused while Booth wavered over his answer.

"It's Dr. Brennan, isn't it?" she asked.

Booth just looked at her for a moment and then nodded briefly as he said, "Yea."

"I had a feeling. Oh, well. A girl has to try. If you get tired of complicated, give me a call," she said with a shrug and a smile as she opened the door. "I'm decidedly uncomplicated."


	22. Anticipation

22 Anticipation

Brennan was forced to compose herself when two searchers returned with remains. The officers stood at the edge of the canopy, seeming afraid to enter the domain of the woman who was either laughing or perhaps crying hysterically within. She dabbed her eyes with the back of her hand and motioned for them to join her.

"I'm sorry. I was thinking about," she paused momentarily, "Never mind. Please, come in. Show me what you've found."

Brennan stood and accepted the remains. While she began her cursory examination, others searchers trickled back to the tent from their own productive searches. Her euphoric state soon relegated itself to memory, and her more customary logical, business-like persona reemerged.

***

Booth made a hasty retreat out of the visitor's center and drove back to Brennan. He was surprised by Karen Cole's proposition. It had been a long time since anyone had asked him out. He supposed if he were honest with himself, it was probably because he behaved as if he were in a relationship. Most women could sense he was off the market, so to speak. He also wondered if Brennan would be jealous if she knew.

Booth grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He highlighted one and pressed "send." By the time he finished making their dinner reservation, he was pulling up outside the tent. There were several people milling about, and he could see Brennan's tall, slim silhouette just beyond the first few people. He turned off the car and watched her work, unseen.

***

Time flew as Brennan processed the finds. 205 bones in total had been discovered. The missing item was a distal phalanx from the left hand. She was just about ready to call off the search when another search group returned holding aloft the missing piece.

***

He watched as a small group returned to the tent and called out to Brennan. A huge smile appeared on her face, and she hobbled to meet the new group. Booth assumed they had found everything, and decided to make his presence known. He exited the car and walked over to her. She was so consumed in her work, she hadn't noticed him until he placed his hand at the small of her back and said, "Hey, looks like you got it all, Bones. Good work."

Brennan jumped slightly at the unexpected touch, turned slightly to face him, and nodded. "We did. I'll have everything packed up and ready for transport to the Jeffersonian within the hour," she said, eyes glinting with excitement and pride.

"Great. How can I help?" he asked. Brennan promptly put him to work.

***

After the last box was sealed, Booth and Brennan extended their thanks for all the assistance rendered by the local police. The transport vehicle headed to the Jeffersonian, and before long, they found themselves on the highway back to DC.

"I'd say we put in a good day's work, Bones. And it's only lunch time. You hungry?" Booth asked.

"I am, and I'd like to take some more ibuprofen too," she replied.

"Okay, I'll find us a place to stop, unless you just want to get back to town first?" he queried.

"We can stop," she said amiably. They drove in silence while Booth looked for a promising place to eat.

"Booth?" Brennan asked hesitantly.

"Yea, Bones?"

"I'm feeling a bit strange," she said.

"Strange how?" he asked, concerned. He glanced over at her.

"I'm feeling as if I don't want to get back to the Jeffersonian just yet, which is very odd, because we have a great deal of work to do, and I do want to do my work," she said.

Booth raised an eyebrow and a smile began forming on his lips. "Maybe you're not ready to test our new working dynamic in front of an audience that knows us?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"What I mean is, things are changing between us. Angela is bound to see it and pry it out of you before you've been back in the door for five minutes. She has a sixth sense for these things. You know she does," he said with a laugh.

Brennan pursed her lips as she considered Booth's theory. "I suppose that could be part of it. But what concerns me is that I would very much like to skip this afternoon and get right to tonight. I'm concerned that my work will be negatively impacted by whatever this is between us. I really don't want that to happen, Booth," she said, a touch of panic seemed to enter her voice and her eyes widened slightly. "That can't happen."

"That won't happen, Bones. First off, you won't let it happen. Second, neither will I," he said confidently. "What you do is important to both of us, Temperance. Don't be so hard on yourself for looking forward to spending time with me outside of work. Give yourself a chance to get used to it before you start coming up with ways to avoid it."

Brennan became thoughtful for a few moments before she responded. "I do that, don't I?

"Yea, you do," Booth said quietly as he pulled into a parking spot. He put the car in park and gave her a winning smile. "There is an up-side to all that you're feeling, though," he said grinning ear to ear.

"What's that, Booth," Brennan said slightly frustrated.

"You wanna date me, you know you wanna," he chanted in sing-song style with his head bobbing until Brennan began to smile and blush.

Brennan found herself giggling again—for the second time that day. But before she let the giggles get the best of her, she rolled her eyes, still smiling, and said, "You're very silly." She shook her head, fully laughing now and said, "Let's eat."


	23. Identity

23 Identity

Booth escorted her to and from the restaurant with an arm around her waist instead of his more customary light touch at her back. Brennan was grateful for the extra support since her ankle still throbbed. Lunch was a quick affair. Burger and fries for him, salad and fruit for her. Booth seemed to have an uncanny ability to find out of the way restaurants with good food. They kept their conversation light hearted, and by the time they were back on the road, Brennan felt more at ease. Booth hadn't changed over the past twenty-four hours; neither had she. Their friendship and partnership seemed as strong as ever. As long as that held, she was willing to follow Booth's lead.

Booth took notice of Brennan's more relaxed demeanor. He was hopeful their admission of wanting something more from each other would be enough for them to face and solve the problem. Somewhere between her logic and his heart, he knew they could find the answers they both needed.

As they neared their destination, Booth asked, "Do you want me to drop you at your place or the Jeffersonian?"

"Mmh. My place, if you don't mind. I want to get my car so I can head home in time to change for tonight," she said.

"Okay. I'll pick you up at 7. Don't make me come track you down at work either!" Booth laughed.

"Why would I do that Booth?" Brennan asked sincerely.

"Well, for starters, you have been known to forget about a date when a set of bones has your attention."

"I don't think that will be a problem this time," she said.

"We'll see," he said. "We'll see."

Booth pulled up outside of her building and parked. He slung her bag over one should and wrapped an arm around her waist to escort her inside. They walked in a comfortable silence. At her door, Brennan took her bag from him and said. "Seven o'clock. I'll be ready."

Booth nodded and held her eyes with his momentarily before he released her and backed up two steps. "See you then, Bones."

***

At the Jeffersonian, Dr. Camille Saroyan signed for the remains Dr. Brennan recovered around 1 p.m. She summoned her team, assigned their tasks, and set to work herself. Toxicology, particulates, x-rays, and autopsy were necessary before the bones could be cleaned and prepared for Dr. Brennan's review. Cam hoped they could confirm identity before Dr. Brennan's expertise was required.

Booth entered the medico-legal lab at the Jeffersonian around 2:30 p.m. He found Cam in the autopsy room with the remains.

"Hey Cam, how's it going?" Booth asked.

"Hey yourself, big man. I'm not too bad, but our victim here wasn't so fortunate," Cam said indicating the remains. "He had the crap beat out of him," she said, snapping off her gloves.

"You have a cause of death yet?" Booth asked.

"Maybe. Blunt force trauma to the back of the head is my leading candidate right now," she replied.

"From a fall or a blow?"

"There isn't much soft tissue left. But, best guess is a blow," she said. "We'll know more once the tox results are back and the bones are cleaned for Dr. Brennan's review. Ah, where is Dr. Brennan?" she asked looking past Booth.

"She should be here soon. I dropped her off at her place first," he said.

"All right. Strange, but all right," she said with a shrug, moving past Booth into the lab proper. "Anyway, we were able to confirm the identity. It is Mark Sinclair. Dental records were a match." Cam walked towards the platform; Booth followed. Clark Edison was working at a table on the platform.

"Clark, would you please have the bones cleaned? I've finished with the autopsy."

"Of course, Dr. Saroyan," he said as he finished a notation.

"You're sure it's a match for Sinclair?" Booth asked.

"Yes, Seeley. Don't you have some investigating to do or something?" she asked him with grin.

"As a matter of fact, I do, Camille," he said smiling.

"Don't call me Camille," Cam said flatly with her hands on her hips, arms akimbo.

"Don't call me Seeley," Booth said grinning broadly as he turned for the exit.

"Later Hodgins," Booth called to him as he walked past on his way out the door.

Hodgins looked up briefly, shrugged, and waved to Booth's departing back, saying "Yea, whatever, G-man."

Booth did indeed have investigating to do. He knew exactly where he was going to start, too. Harkness. Unfortunately, he didn't have his number. He headed to the Hoover building.


	24. Doubting Thomas

24 Doubting Thomas

Booth poured himself a cup of coffee and made for his office. Before he got that far, Charlie spotted him and jogged over.

"Booth," Charlie called as he caught up to him.

"Hey man. I was just about to make call. What's up?" Booth asked, continuing to walk towards his office.

Charlie put a hand on Booth's arm. "Hold on, Booth," he said, glancing towards Booth's office.

"What is it, Charlie?" Booth asked.

"Tom Harkness is in your office. He's been there since about ten this morning." Charlie told him.

"Jeez, I told him I'd call. He say why he's camping out?" Booth asked.

"No, just that he wasn't leaving until he saw you," Charlie said. "No one would say boo to the man, except maybe Cullen, but I don't think anyone clued him in."

"All right, thanks for the heads up," Booth said and patted Charlie on the shoulder.

Booth opened the door to his office to find Harkness pacing in front of his desk. "Tom, this is a surprise. I was about to call you."

"Yea, well. I'm here. What have you got?" Harkness asked tensely.

Booth shut the door and indicated Harkness should sit. "Been here long?"

"Nah, just four, five hours," Harkness chuckled. He pulled at his pant legs and sat heavily in one of the chairs in front of Booth's desk.

"You didn't need to come down here. I would have kept you in the loop," Booth said while he also sat down.

"Would you, Seel?" Harkness asked quietly.

"That's a hell of a thing to ask me, Tom. Of course I would have kept you informed." Booth said, slightly offended. "What I want to know is, why would you think I wouldn't?"

"Have you read the file?" Harkness asked.

"Yea, Tom. It's one of those cases that makes me feel dirty just knowing that there are cops out there that condone this... these... atrocities. It almost makes me ashamed to call myself a cop. But it also makes me want to hunt them down and lock them up. Every last one of them."

"Well, cleaning house ain't as easy as it sounds," Harkness said despondently.

"Never is, Tom. But we do what we can," Booth said.

"Look, I'm sorry for doubting you. It's just that I doubt everyone now-a-days. I don't know who to trust. Guys I know have turned up in this investigation. Hell, it makes me doubt my own judgment," Harkness confessed.

"You, me, and Bones. We'll figure this out," Booth promised. "We got the ID. It was Sinclair. The squints confirmed it this afternoon."

"Crap!" Harkness said standing again to resume his pacing. "Anything on the family yet?"

"Not yet. Bones will find us a lead. In the meantime, let's see if we can shake something loose from your investigation." Booth leaned back in his chair toying with a pen. "Sinclair was dumped at the site of an old pyrite mine. Fool's gold. He was also dumped not five miles from the FBI Academy. Seems like too much of a coincidence not to have some significance."

"Fool's gold?" Harkness muttered. "And the Academy." Harkness continued pacing, deep in thought. Booth pulled up the file and began a text search on the wire trap transcripts.

"Bingo!" Booth shouted, pulling Harkness from his reverie.

"What'd you find?" Harkness asked quickly from over Booth's shoulder.

"There are several 'fool's gold' hits in the tap transcripts. It's still pulling hits. I'll trace these back and do some more digging. My gut's telling me Sinclair was dumped there because that mine holds some sort of significance to either the killer or your case." Booth turned to face Harkness. "Why don't you go through these transcripts again yourself. We can compare notes in a couple days?"

"That's first decent suggestion I've heard in three weeks, Seel. Thanks," Harkness said sincerely.

"Don't mention it, Tom. Now get out of here before Cullen finds out you've been scaring the crap out of young agents down here."

Harkness snorted, shook his head and opened the door. "3 p.m. tomorrow?" Harkness asked.

"Tomorrow's Saturday, Tom. Let's make it Sunday. I have Parker this weekend."

Harkness grumbled, but nodded his assent. "All right, Sunday then."

"Good man. I'll call you after I drop Parker off with his mom. It could be after eight, just so you know," Booth said.

"Yeah, okay. I'll be waiting," Harkness said.

"All right, let me flag these files for you, and I'll talk with you Sunday," Booth said.

"Thanks, Seel," Harkness said as he walked out of the office.

Booth tagged the files and sent a memo to himself and Harkness about them. He responded to a few emails that couldn't wait, then glanced at the time. It was already 4:30. Booth ran a hand through his hair and made a quick decision to work from home until it was time to pick up Brennan.

By the time he got home, showered, and changed, Booth didn't see the point in starting to review the transcripts when he would have to put them down again so soon. Instead, he headed to a flower shop on the way to Brennan's apartment.


	25. Relax

25 Relax

Brennan roamed around her apartment for a few minutes after Booth left. She emptied and repacked her travel bag, then wandered aimlessly touching some of her favorite things. A wooden vase gifted to her in Indonesia, a hand-stitched quilt in vibrant, bold colors from Guatemala, a tiny porcelain pig, and a small blue plastic Smurf figurine. The latter two were gifts from Booth. They were small and common, and more precious to her than most of the other things that filled her rooms. The only things more dear were the dolphin keepsakes from her mother and father. It was good to be home.

Brennan broke her contemplative state and climbed into the shower for a long steam. She fully intended to head to work, but the twinge in her ankle made her reconsider. Never one to dally after a decision was made, she called Cam.

"Saroyan," Cam answered.

"Hello, Cam. Booth and I are back in town," Brennan said.

"Hello, Dr. Brennan."

"I was planning to come in this afternoon, but I turned my ankle last night. Unless I'm needed specifically for the Sinclair case, I'm just going to take it easy this afternoon," Brennan told her.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I hope every thing's all right. Booth didn't mention you were injured," Cam said.

"Booth was there?" Brennan asked.

"Yes, he just left actually. We confirmed Sinclair's identity through dental records. The autopsy is finished, and I have Clark cleaning the bones this afternoon. So, please, take the rest of the day. I have a feeling you worked late last night anyway, and the bones won't be clean until tomorrow at least." Cam said.

"Booth knows about the ID?" Brennan asked.

"Yes, Dr. Brennan," Cam said with amusement. "Stay off your ankle as much as possible and keep icing it as needed. Ibuprofen too."

"I will. Thanks, Cam. See you Monday," Brennan said, and then disconnected. On a whim, she dialed another number number saved in her phone labeled "Spa." She didn't frequent the establishment often, but she enjoyed it each time she went. A massage, manicure, and pedicure would feel great and help her pass the time. The receptionist remembered her. She promised they could work her in today and have her out before 6. Brennan thanked her, and called a cab.

Brennan dressed casually in a flowing jewel toned pattern blouse, khakis, and loafers, grabbed her coat and purse, and went downstairs to await her cab.

***

The spa was exactly what she needed. Quiet and relaxing. When she mentioned to her pedicurist, Nancy, that she was going on a date later that night, Nancy convinced Brennan to let them fix her hair and makeup as well. Brennan made sure they understood that it was a casual date, not a formal affair; but beyond that, she let them work. While they worked on her, Brennan's mind worked overtime running scenarios she could use to explain her addiction to Booth, to Booth.

True to their word, even with the addition of hair and makeup, Brennan was home by 6. She extracted a slim envelope from her purse and placed it on the dining table before she went to her closet. She selected a soft light blue cashmere sweater with a wide knit textured, fold-over collar that hugged her shoulders, creating an almost straight neckline. She decided to stick with the khakis and loafers. The sweater's collar didn't lend itself to a necklace, but she chose a pair of sapphire cluster earrings with a single pearl dangling from the cluster of small stones.

Satisfied with her appearance, she dabbed the slightest bit of perfume behind her ears and inside her wrists. Then, she brewed a cup of chamomile tea and sat down to wait for Booth.

***

Booth walked out of the florist carrying a potted plant. He spent nearly 20 minutes figuring out what to buy since the florist had no daffodils. Luckily, they had daisies. He had them artfully placed among the leaves of a live houseplant with waxy variegated leaves. He thought it would look nice on her desk at work. Flowers she likes and a plant to keep. Hopefully, it would appeal to her emotions and her practicality.

Booth pulled up outside of Brennan's building at 6:45. Early, but not too early, he decided. He went back over his plan, picked up the plant, and headed upstairs.

Outside her door, Booth paused to compose himself. _"Relax,"_ he thought. _"It's Bones. Nothing to be nervous about. You've picked her up hundreds of times before." _ He took a deep breath, raised his hand, then dropped it. _"Yea, but never for a date before,"_ he thought. He shook his head briefly, raised his hand and pressed the buzzer.


	26. Presents

26 Presents

The door chime startled Brennan. He was early. Brennan placed her mug on the side table, stood and rubbed her hands together nervously as she looked around the room. "_Answer the door, Brennan_," she thought to herself. She didn't remember walking to the door, but suddenly she found her hand on the knob as the door swung open.

Booth stood before her leaning against the door frame, cradling a houseplant in one arm. He had shaved recently; the scent of his aftershave reached her before he spoke. His eyebrows rose questioningly when she stood there, mute. "Are you going to invite me in, or are we leaving now?" he asked with a lopsided grin.

"I'm sorry, Booth. Come in," she said, stepping aside. As he walked past her, she noticed he was wearing form fitting dark blue jeans, a burgundy striped polo shirt, and his brown leather jacket.

"I got you a little something," he said, extending the plant towards her after she shut the door. Her delicate perfume lingered in the space he now occupied.

"It's lovely Booth, thank you," she said taking the arrangement, gently fingering a daisy petal. She walked to her dining table and placed it in the center, careful not to set it on the envelope she placed there earlier. "I got something for you too," she said, picking up the envelope. She tapped the envelope against her other hand.

"You didn't have to do that, Bones," he said, flattered she had been so thoughtful. He wondered if, just perhaps, this might not be as difficult as he imagined.

"Well, it won't last as long as the plant you brought me, but if you like it, I'm sure I could arrange for more," she said, handing him the envelope.

Curious, he opened the envelope and extracted a small certificate for a deep tissue massage at the spa she visited earlier. "Bones, this is great!" Booth said excitedly. "Thanks. What made you think of it?"

"I didn't go to work this afternoon. My ankle was still sore and the bones were being macerated, so I told Cam I was going to relax. I just did my resting at the spa," she said, smiling.

"Good for you, Bones," Booth said tucking the certificate into the inside pocket of his jacket. He took a few steps towards her, closing the distance between. He held out his hand and asked, "Hungry?"

"I am," she said, her hand into his. "Let me grab my coat, and we can go," she said leading him to the closet. She hadn't noticed their fingers were twined together until he released her hand to help her into her coat.

"Grab your scarf and gloves there too, Bones. It's cold outside," Booth said. She nodded as she draped the scarf around her neck and slipped the gloves into her pockets.

They walked to his car holding hands. Booth couldn't recall whether he had reached for hers, or if she had reached for his.


	27. Dinner

27 Dinner

Brennan told him about her afternoon at the spa during the short trip to Wong Fu's. Her description of the massage she received had him looking forward to his own, and he told her so. Booth wanted to tell her about the rest of his day, his discussion with Harkness and the fool's gold lead they developed, but he stopped himself. Tonight was not about work. Instead, Booth decided he would tell her about his weekend plans with Parker.

"You look like you were about to say something," Brennan said as Booth parked the car.

Booth hesitated before responding, "I was going to tell you about the rest of my day, but I don't want work to interrupt our evening."

"Well, it will now, because I'll be wondering if you don't tell me," Brennan said playfully.

"All right, all right," Booth said, turning off the car. He walked around and met Brennan on the other side. "Tom Harkness was waiting for me when I got back to the office. He wanted to make sure I wouldn't keep him in the dark about our investigation," he explained as he escorted her inside.

"What else?" She prodded.

He shrugged. "Ever since we found out Sinclair was dumped at a pyrite mine, I've had a feeling that it was important. So I searched the wire tap transcripts in Harkness' case for 'fool's gold.' Got several hits. I'm going to review them this weekend and compare notes with Tom Sunday night."

"That's good news," Brennan said with a slight frown that disagreed with her words.

"What?" Booth asked slowly, reading her expression.

"Are you sure it's a good idea for Agent Harkness to be so involved in our investigation?" she responded with her own question.

"Why wouldn't it?" he asked neutrally.

"I was just thinking about how criminals sometimes try to insert themselves into an investigation. Agent Harkness has inserted himself rather . . .," Brennan began to explain before Booth cut her off.

"I see what you're saying, Bones. But I don't think that's the case here," he said, watching her reaction. She was about to speak again, but he paused her with raised hand. "Call it a gut instinct if you want. We talked about trust issues this afternoon. Even if he's involved, I'm willing to take the risk at this point. I'm glad you considered it, though," he said with a smile.

"I've had a very good teacher," Brennan said with her eyes sparkling, pleased with his praise.

They entered the restaurant moments later, its warmth a welcome respite from the brisk cold that had set in during the day. The hostess seated them at a small and relatively private curved booth near the back of the restaurant. Booth helped her out of her coat and removed his own before they slid onto the leather upholstered bench from either side of the table and moved closer so they were sitting together, overlooking the restaurant. As soon as the hostess left, Sid appeared before their table.

"Welcome back, my friends," Sid said pleasantly.

"Good to see you, Sid," Booth said.

"Very nice to see you again, Sid," Brennan said.

Sid smiled broadly. "Shall I take care of your menu this evening, or did you want to order?"

Booth glanced at Brennan who nodded slightly. "I think we're leaving it completely in your hands tonight, Sid," Booth told him.

"Excellent," he said rubbing his hands together. "In that case, your drinks will be out momentarily. Let us know if you need anything at all," he said with a wink and turned for the kitchen.

Turning back to Brennan, Booth asked "So, have I satisfied your need for case details?"

"Almost," she said. "When are you going to have time to review the transcripts? I thought you had Parker this weekend."

"I do. I'm meeting Rebecca around 9 tomorrow at his hockey practice. He has a game at 10. He'll probably crash in the afternoon. If he does, I can fit in some work then. If not, I'll do it tomorrow night after he's asleep."

"Won't that keep you up most of the night?" she asked.

"It'll be a long night, but nothing I can't handle," he said confidently.

"I didn't mean to insinuate you couldn't handle it. I was just wondering if you would like some help getting through it," she said.

"Oh, yea?" he asked. Their conversation paused momentarily as their server placed drinks before them. "Sure, as long as you don't mind working at my place, that is," he said.

"That's fine," she agreed with a nod.

Booth was thoughtful for a moment. He picked up the wine glass in front of him and swirled the deep red liquid in the glass before he asked, "Do you want to join us for dinner tomorrow?"

"I don't want to interrupt your time with Parker," she said.

Booth's expression softened. "You wouldn't."

"Okay, then. I'd like that," she said.

"Nothing fancy. Spaghetti is on the menu tomorrow," he said, then sniffed the wine's bouquet.

"Meat sauce?" she asked hesitantly.

"Usually, but I'll set aside some sauce without beef if you're coming." he said. Unnoticed by Booth and Brennan, their server placed a small plate of rice crackers with a peanut dipping sauce between them on the table.

Brennan grinned. "If it won't be too much trouble."

"No trouble at all," he said. Booth sipped the wine. His eyebrows rose slightly and slight smile played across his face. "This is good, Bones," he said nodding towards his glass.

Brennan picked up her own glass and swirled it gently. Booth watched her warm the wine, test its aroma, and finally take a sip. She closed her eyes as she tasted the wine. "Mmh, very nice, she said, and opened her eyes. "A Pinot Noir, I think."

"I'll take your word for it," he said lightly.

They nibbled on the rice crackers while they waited for the rest of their meals. The food was fabulous, but of course Sid would not disappoint them. Jackfruit curry with peppers and cashews for Brennan; scallops with peaches and peppers for Booth. Neither tried to steer their dinner conversation. It flowed organically from topic to topic, work, politics, Brennan's progress on her latest novel.

Brennan finished her dish and pushed the plate away slightly. "That was wonderful," Brennan said, quite satisfied with her meal. Sid seemed to materialize as she spoke.

"Happy you enjoyed it, but we aren't done quite yet," Sid said. Sid turned slightly to retrieve a dessert plate covered in sticky sweet rice bathed in coconut milk, surrounded by fresh mango chunks. He placed two fresh forks beside the plate and removed their empty dinner plates effortlessly. Then he placed two champagne flutes on the table and expertly uncorked a bottle, pouring effervescent golden liquid into each flute. "Take your time and enjoy the evening," Sid said as he placed the bottle on their table before he slipped away.

Booth and Brennan exchanged a glance before they dove into their dessert with enthusiasm.

"Oh, this is decadent," Brennan said around a mouthful of the sweet treat.

"It's good. Not apple pie," Booth said chuckling, "but really, really good."

Brennan playfully slapped his arm and said, "You can't seriously wish you had apple pie instead of this."

Booth shook his head and said, "No. This is the perfect finish to this meal. Just saying it's not apple pie," Booth said before taking another bite of mango.

Brennan shook her head in amusement. They finished their dessert in a happy silence, lost in the food and each other's eyes. Once they finished dessert, Booth draped an arm over Brennan's shoulder and leaned back with her in the booth, sipping the last of his champagne. Brennan grabbed her glass and rested against Booth comfortably, enjoying the moment. She decided to let Booth take the lead tonight. He had a plan, and she didn't want to rush him through it.

"So, I had a convoluted plan put together for tonight about how I could show you some things about yourself that you might not realize," Booth said.

"Is that right?" Brennan asked. "Does that mean you've changed your mind?"

"Not exactly," he said. "Do you remember what you said to me yesterday on the way down to Virginia?"

"I said quite a few things in the car. To which particular topic are you referring?" she asked.

"You asked me what my definition of love is. And you also said you 'don't do subjective' too well. Remember?"

Brennan nodded, "I remember." She began worrying again that he was going to focus on defining emotions instead of examining the facts, but tried to keep her concern off her face.

"So, I was going to show you how all those definitions could apply to us. But then," he said humorously, "I remembered something else. You are, first and foremost, a woman of science and logic."

"Yes," Brennan said smiling. "I am."

"And all those definitions you tossed at me are about feelings, which you admit don't come easily to you. But they're important to me. So, I thought we could talk about all of it. The feelings and the reasons behind them," he said.

"All right," she said. She was more pleased than she could have imagined that he was looking beyond subjective feelings.

"We both already know we like each other and enjoy each other's company." Booth set down his glass and held up two fingers. "And we've already covered the fact that we both would like something more. That's desire," he said extending his thumb to indicate a third. Booth paused for effect, then flexed his hand and curled his fingers back into his palm again.

"So that leaves us with passion," he said as he extended his thumb, "fidelity," as he extended his index finger, "and sex from your list," he finished, extending his middle finger to join the others. He tucked his thumb back, leaving two fingers extended. "lets skip passion right now, okay?"

"Sure," Brennan said slightly amused.

He wiggled is first finger at her. "Fidelity. I don't want to bring up unhappy memories here, and there is a point to this. So bear with me. You turned Ian down because of me, didn't you?"

Brennan was startled at the new direction Booth was pursuing. Booth watched her eyes cloud ever so slightly at the mention of Ian, the suave forensic anthropologist from England who expressed an interest in her, and whose murder they had subsequently helped to solve. "Uhm," she said surprised. "How did you know that?"

"I have pretty good hearing, Bones," Booth said quietly. Brennan nodded, and he continued. "Even though we weren't together, you still put my feelings before your own. You knew I didn't want you to—that he was right for you—and that mattered. To you. That's fidelity. It's a choice. Choosing to honor a commitment to someone is what matters when all the rest fades."

"Well, I have of late reconsidered the, benefits—f you will—of monogamy. Did you know there is a new study that has found a small percentage of couples do not experience that waning of amorous feelings? Some couples who have been together for ten years or more still produce the same amounts of phenylethylamine and oxytocin as you would expect from a couple in their first few months of a relationship," Brennan told him authoritatively.

Booth's expression became difficult for Brennan to read. She supposed she would call it thoughtful, but there was a barely cloaked desire in his eyes. Given that, she figured he must be trying to restrain himself. Sometimes he was far too much of a gentleman.

Booth finally regained his self control. He had almost kissed her just then, and he couldn't let that happen just yet. "I didn't know that, Bones," he said huskily. "But I did a little research of my own."

"Oh? On what subject?" she asked.

"I was going to save the science for later. But, we're on a roll here. I looked up what makes people feel like they are in love. You – science," he said waggling a finger at her. "I can't just give you feelings. I have to give you evidence, right?" he asked, shifting slightly so he could see her face easier, and still maintain their physical contact.

She nodded, finding it hard to breathe.

"You know all this, right? Phenylethylamine?" Booth pronounced carefully. "Oxytocin and dopamine?" Booth set his glass on the table, took one of her hands in his, and pressed two fingers against the thumb side of her wrist. "Your pulse is elevated," he said, looking into her eyes. "And your pupils are more dilated than they were a few minutes ago. Adrenaline kicking in there, Bones?" he whispered.

Brennan slowly released the breath she was holding and drew in another. "I admit to feeling the effects of those chemicals when I'm around you. And I'll also admit those chemicals are addictive."

"Does that make it any less real?" he asked in a near whisper.

"No," she said shaking her head. "In fact, I think that makes it all the more real," Brennan said intensely.

"And what about if it fades or wanes?" he asked. Are you willing to choose fidelity again?"

Brennan searched his eyes, as if she could find an answer there. Booth watched her eyes flick back and forth, but never leaving his.

"Don't answer that right now, Bones. Think about it," he said, "because it's is one of my conditions."

"Conditions?" she asked. "Conditions for what, exactly?"

"Us, as more than partners," he said simply.

The barest hint of a smile started to form at the corners of Brennan's mouth. "Are there more conditions?"

He nodded. "One more. It goes hand in hand with fidelity—honesty. I need you to let me know what you're thinking and feeling. And, if your feelings change, you need to tell me. No secrets. Don't make a decision about something that involves both of us and just dump it on me. Tell me what you're thinking and give me a chance to respond."

She nodded. "We do that now. At work, I mean."

"Mmhm. We do. But we can do it better, don't you think?" he asked.

"We can try," she agreed.

"So that still leaves us with passion and sex," he said tapping his middle finger and thumb together after releasing her wrist. "And, I'm pretty sure I already won an argument on the difference between making love and having sex," Booth said with a grin.

Brennan nodded. "After we solved Mr. Ed's case. I remember agreeing with you," she said, returning his grin with one of her own. "That leaves passion."

He nodded slowly. His demeanor became more serious. "Passion may be tough for you to understand because you don't believe in God," he said cautiously. "Can I assume know what a Passion Play is?"

"Of course. The Passion of Christ is a reenactment of a fable derived from. . ." she began, but stopped when she saw the effect her words had on his expression. His serious, yet content expression crumpled into one of disappointment in an instant. His eyes were closed and his teeth clenched. Her voice caught in her throat as she said, "I'm sorry, Booth. I respect your beliefs. I just don't share them," she said softly, leaning in to caress his cheek.

He felt his tension ease under her gentle touch. He reached up for her hand and brought it to his lips briefly before bringing their clasped hands back down to rest between them. "I know," he said. He gently rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand thinking to himself, _"Be careful what you wish for there, Seeley."_

"Right," he continued. "Well, I believe Christ willingly died to save man. And when I think about passion, that's what I measure against. Would I be willing to die for someone? You know, that's real passion. There are only a few people on my list I would choose to die for, and you and Parker are at the top of it."

Brennan swallowed hard and asked, "The Checker Box?" He nodded, and they sat in silence for while. They weight of the moment pulled heavily at both of them.

"While I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, if you're going to insist on making my well-being your responsibility, I would prefer it if you could find a way to protect me without putting your own life in danger," she said trying to lighten the mood.

"Yea, I'll get a memo out first thing in the morning to all the psychotic women who are stalking me," he said wryly.

"Oh, you have more then?" she asked playfully.

"One or two," he said as the sparkle returned to his eyes.

"Hey, you didn't tell me to back off," he said puffing out his chest a touch.

"Don't get too cocky there, mister," she said, poking his chest gently. "You are rather over-protective. Although, I suppose there's a part of me that actually likes it," she agreed, "and you've never let me down," she added quietly.

"I never will," he promised. Brennan rested her head on his shoulder, their fingers twined once again as they finished the last of the champagne. Booth instantly felt the loss when he released her hand to answer his phone that had begun vibrating. Brennan sat up straighter as Booth answered the call.

"Booth," he said, then listed to the caller for a moment. "Great, thanks." He shut the phone and reattached it to his belt. Booth sought her eyes. "Could I convince you to take a ride with me?"

"Shouldn't take much convincing," she said. "Is there a case development?"

"Nope. Just a little surprise I've been saving," he said.

"You're full of surprises tonight, aren't you?" she asked.

"Mmhm. Let's go," he said.

"What about the check?" she asked.

"I've already taken care of it," he said, pulling her around the booth with him as he worked his way to the edge of the curved bench.

"I didn't see you get your wallet," she said.

"I talked to Sid earlier. It's taken care of. Now, come on," he said as he pulled her to her feet. Brennan winced slightly as she stood for the first time in an hour and half. "Ankle?" Booth asked.

She nodded. "It will be fine once I get moving again. It only hurts for a few minutes when I get up after sitting for too long."

"Maybe we shouldn't go for drive then," Booth suggested.

"It will be fine, Booth," Brennan said shrugging into her coat. "I certainly don't want to walk too far on it. Driving is just fine."

"Okay. Don't say I didn't offer," he said while he slipped on his on jacket.

Brennan rolled her eyes at him as they walked through the restaurant and made their way to the parking lot. Once outside, the crisp winter air misted their breath into billowy clouds. A light snow was falling. Everything was dusted with the finest hint of white powder. Faintly, but growing louder, they heard a jingling sound. Its source soon became evident as a horse drawn carriage pulled up before them.


	28. Carriage Confession

28 Carriage Confession

Brennan stopped to stare at the carriage. "Oh look, Booth! Someone's ordered a carriage," she said. She began looking around for whomever ordered it.

"Yea, I wonder who?" Booth asked comically as he led her towards the carriage.

"What?" Brennan exclaimed. "Booth, tell me you didn't do this."

"Then I would be lying, and I won't lie to you, Bones," he said impishly.

The liveried driver hopped down and met them beside the carriage. "Good evening, Mr. Booth, ma'am," he greeted them, tipping his hat. "We'll need to keep an eye on the weather in case this picks up.," he said glance up to indicate the light snow. "Weather report is on your side though."

Booth shook the man's hand. "Thank you, Mr. Carmichael. This is Dr. Temperance Brennan," Booth introduced her with a brief nod of his head.

"Pleasure, ma'am," Carmichael replied. Carmichael and Booth helped Brennan into the carriage, and Booth joined her. They settled the carriage blanket over their laps while Carmichael climbed back into the driver's seat and gave the reigns a little toss. The horses shook their bridles, making the bells jingle again, and then they were off. The muffled clip-clop of the horses' hooves on the snow-covered streets was just audible.

"Now I know why you insisted on the gloves and scarf earlier," Brennan said, leaning into Booth, who wrapped an arm around her shoulders. They sat quietly together watching the snow fall and taking in the sights of the nighttime snow-covered city from their unusual vantage point. Occasionally, one of them would point out something of interest as they meandered passed.

Carmichael took them on a circuitous path through the city. As they rode past Arlington National Cemetery, Booth felt her tense beside him. Her grip on his hand under the blanket grew tighter, and she seemed to be leaning into him more than she had a few moments earlier. He turned his head to whisper in her ear, "I know you haven't given me your answer yet, but if there's a chance you're willing to accept my conditions, you could tell me what's bothering you."

She sighed and leaned her head back to ask, "How is it you see through me so easily?"

"It's a gift," he said flashing her a brief smile.

"The last time I went in there, I thought you were," her words faded to a whisper, "dead." He rubbed her shoulder and hugged her to him. She resisted at first, but eventually rested her head on his shoulder. He felt her relax against him and breathed his own sigh of relief.

Brennan considered telling him all of it. He deserved the truth, but it was so hard to open up after intentionally sealing herself off from everyone for so long. On the other hand, he said he wanted honesty with no secrets. While she considered her options, Booth remained quiet. As illogical as it seemed, she felt he was sharing his strength with her, just by holding her. Brennan appreciated his silence. Another man would have prodded and cajoled her to continue. Not Booth. He waited. He was willing to accept what she offered.

Her decision made, her anguish unfolded slowly. "When they told me you were dead, I felt so alone. My chest hurt, my throat closed up. It was all I could to to get out of there and get home before I...," her voice trailed off again. He continued rubbing her shoulder gently while he waited for her to gather her thoughts and continue. Brennan was stunned that the loss she felt so keenly during those awful two weeks returned to her now with such force. To her surprise, she realized she didn't want to hide her pain from Booth. He was worth the risk. Suddenly, she found the words pouring from her in a torrent she was powerless to stop.

"Booth, it was worse than when my parents and Russ left," she began.

"How so?" he asked quietly.

" I used to pretend they would come home for me; take me away from the latest horror show masquerading as a foster family. I didn't wait around for them, obviously, but I still had hope."

"When I thought you died, I," she paused to rub her forehead, as if she had a headace. "I lost control. I couldn't even hope that you would return. I cried myself to sleep more nights than I care to remember. Every morning I woke thinking it was just a bad dream. Then the reality of it would strike again. I had to tuck my memories of you in a little box and file it away, just so I could get through each day. But at night, I couldn't. Angela tried to get me to talk, but I didn't want anyone near me. Memories of you tore open the wound fresh again. Every. Single. Night."

Booth linked his fingers were hers under the blanket and let her continue at her own pace.

"I didn't sleep at all the night before your funeral. I sat on the balcony, staring up at the stars, wishing there was a God so I could tell him exactly how unfair and cruel it was to take you away."

Booth felt her shaking beside him as the memories overcame her. He said nothing, but held her close, still gently running his hand along her shoulder and his lips against her silken hair. Brennan's trembling slowed, and finally she began to relax again.

"He heard you, Bones," Booth whispered into her hair. Brennan raised her head from his chest in order to meet his eyes. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. What he saw gave him hope, and enough courage to ask, "Did you find hope again?"

She nodded. "I found something else too."

Booth raised any eyebrow questioningly.

"I found love," she whispered.

Booth found himself trembling at her words.

"I can warm you up, if you'll have me," she said tucking the blanket around them tighter, as she leaned up and brushed her lips across his for the second time in as many days. Like yesterday, Booth's free hand flew to her face. But this time he did not pull her away. Instead, he ran his fingers through her hair and pulled her to him, deepening their kiss. Soft lips pressed together, gentle at first. Then needful and demanding, his tongue teased her lips, and she granted him access, tasting of an intoxicating mixture of mango, coconut, and champagne.

A sharp "Ho, there!" from Carmichael brought them to reality again, and they felt the carriage slow. Booth pulled back from the sweetness of her lips to kiss her forehead. He sighed contentedly, and she tucked her head safely against his shoulder, as the carriage pulled up outside of the restaurant.

They remained seated while Carmichael secured the reigns, and hopped down from the driver's seat. He walked around the horses and made a pretense of checking hoofs and bridles to give the couple a few more minutes in the carriage. When he returned, to help them down, Booth put aside the blanket and stepped down. He turned to help Brennan descend the steps, and Carmichael stood nearby, ready to assist if necessary.

Once safely on the ground, Brennan turned to Carmichael and thanked him for the ride. Booth shook his hand and thanked him as well. Carmichael bid them good night, and Booth and Brennan stood with their arms around each other, standing in the parking lot with slow flurries swirling around them, watching the carriage depart.

"I think I'd like to go home now," Brennan said, turning her face back to Booth as the carriage rounded a corner. He silently offered her his arm. She took it as they turned for the car.

"Your place or mine?" he asked suggestively as he held open the passenger door.

"Mine, please. You have to get to Parker in the morning, and I would rather not have to take a cab home," she said, ever practical.

"It's closer too," Booth said with a wicked grin. He quickly kissed her again and helped her into the car.


	29. Intermisssion

29 Intermission

Getting to Brennan's apartment took longer than either wanted. Booth helped her into the car, turned on the heat, and then had to dust snow off the car windows before they could leave. Booth was grateful the roads weren't icy. The road crews salted the roads they traveled.

Outside of her apartment door, Booth stood behind Brennan with their coats tucked under one arm, his other wrapped around her waist, trailing featherlight kisses down neck and exposed shoulder while she fumbled for her keys. She turned in his arms to face him with look of mock frustration on her face and said in hushed tones, "If you don't stop, we'll never get inside." She couldn't maintain the charade and began to chuckle.

Booth took the keys from her hand. He stepped forward with one leg between hers, gently forcing her against the door frame and seized her lips with his own. She yielded instantly, and he re-explored the soft depths of her mouth, the length of their bodies pressed close together. When he released her and moved back slightly so she could enter the now open apartment before him. "After you, Bones."

Brennan stepped into her apartment on shaky legs. She took his hand and began leading him towards the hallway outside her bedroom. He barely had time to lock the door and drop her keys on the side table. "Slow down, Bones," he said. "We have all night."

"And I don't want to waste a minute of it," she said closing the distance between them again. Booth enfolded her in his free arm and held her tightly.

"Time with you, however we spend it, will never be a waste," he breathed into her hair.

Brennan stepped back, questioning look on her face. "Do you want this, tonight?"

"Oh, yea," he said nodding stepping forward, closing the distance.

"Do you?" he asked.

She nodded. "Good. Then stay a while," she said slipping out of his embrace, claiming their coats in the process. Brennan hung the coats in the closet while Booth browsed her CD collection. He selected a progressive jazz disc, which filled the room with sultry fusion. Brennan joined him a moment later.

"Mmh, Spyro Gyra. Good choice," she said over his shoulder.

"Glad you agree," he said turning to face her.

"Do you want a drink?" she asked.

He shook his head and asked, "How's your ankle?"

"Honestly, I haven't thought about for a while," she said.

"You were still limping on the way up here," he chastised.

"Then, I must conclude it's still sore," she said.

"In that case, I think you should get off it immediately." With that, he swept her up in his arms.

She uttered a started, "Oh!" but wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, "This is becoming a familiar position," while he carried her to the bedroom.

"Are you complaining?" he asked. She responded by kissing his neck just below his ear. "I'll take that as a no," he growled as he sat down on her bed, pulling her firmly onto his lap. "This is really happening, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes," she said pushing him down on the bed beneath her. Her hungry lips sought his again. His hands slipped under her soft sweater, caressing her smooth skin, then slipped it up towards her neck. She lifted it over her head and tossed it aside. They kicked off their shoes and removed the rest of their clothing, quickly adding to the pile forming beside the bed.

Brennan laid back on the bed and stretched her arms over her head, giving Booth a prime view of her every curve. Booth drank in the sight before him, finally capturing her eyes with his, then began tracing slow circles down her arm and across her belly, all the while watching her expression. "You are so beautiful. I just realized I didn't tell you how great you looked tonight," he said.

"Um, I suppose I forgive you for not mentioning it. Although this is a bit of a different view than earlier tonight, she said glancing down at their state of undress."

"Better," he said nodding and lowering his mouth to hers once again. He teased her lips slowly until she parted hers. They began to slowly explore one another. Booth traced the curve of her hip with a light touch. Brennan slid a leg over his, drawing him closer. Her fingernails scraped gently down his back, eliciting a deep moan from him. Booth responded by trailing hot, wet kisses along her jaw line and down her neck, drawing a soft moan from her, just as a shrill ring cut through the air.

Booth groaned, "Oh, not now."

"You should answer it. It could be important," she said quietly.

He nodded and reluctantly turned away from her to fish his insistent phone out of the pile of discarded clothes. Brennan rolled up on her side and rubbed his back while he answered the phone.

"Booth," he said shortly. As he listened, he raked a hand through his hair, and sighed.

Brennan felt tension rising in his back muscles as he listened to the caller. She knelt behind him so she would have a better angle and began to gently massage his shoulders.

He turned slightly so he could see Brennan and gave her sad smile and a tiny shake of his head and mouthed, "I'm sorry." Turning his attention back to his call, he said, "Yes, I was in bed. No, I understand," he said with resignation in his voice. "No, no. Of course I'll come. Don't worry about it. I need to get dressed. Can you give me 45 minutes? Okay. I'll hurry," he said and shut his phone and placed it on the table beside the bed.

"Booth, what's happened?" Brennan asked with concern.

Booth turned to face her and pulled her into his arms again. "That was Drew—Rebecca's boyfriend," he said quietly. "Her mom's had a heart attack. Drew said she wants to get over to the hospital as soon as possible, and they need me to come get Parker," he said hanging his head. "I'm sorry, I've got to go," he said, then turned to kiss her once more. When he released her lips, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed to sit beside him. She helped him pick up and sort out their garments. Then she rose and walked, still favoring her ankle, to the bathroom where she dropped her clothes into a hamper. Booth couldn't help but think what a gorgeous backside she had. He also couldn't help but curse his bad luck. He wanted nothing more than to climb back into her bed and forget the world in her arms. Instead, he had to drive out into a snowy night to pick up his still sleeping son. And even more, he dreaded explaining to Parker that his grandmother was in the hospital.

"Say something, Bones. I need to know you're okay," Booth said as he stood up and fastened his 'Cocky' belt buckle. In the meantime, Brennan grabbed a robe from behind the bathroom door and slipped it over her shoulders while she watched Booth finish dressing. She loosely cinched the belt of her robe and walked back across the room to stand before him.

She looked up into his eyes and held his face between her hands. "I'm okay. More importantly, we're okay," she said sadly. "I can't say I want you to go. This particular interruption certainly never entered into any fantasy I've ever entertained about tonight. But, I also know you need to go. Parker is too young to be dragged to the hospital at this late hour. It's too late to expect to find a sitter, and it's logical for you to pick him up tonight so his weekend is as normal as it can be."

"Thanks, Bones," he said simply as he pulled her into his arms. "Fantasy?" he asked as their lips met again. He sat down on the bed and pulled her into his lap, still kissing her.

Brennan pulled back before she lost all sense of time in his arms. She shook her head at him. "Yes, fantasy. You must have imagined what intercourse between us would be like."

"Making love, Bones. And yeah, I have," he said brushing back her hair.

"We've been waiting for this for a long time, Booth. We can wait a little longer," she said cupping his cheek. She kissed his lips lightly again and said, "I hope Rebecca's mother will be okay. But now you should go get Parker. Do you still want me to come over for supper tomorrow?"

He nodded.

"Call me. I'll be at the lab," she said. "I'm going to see if I can learn anything from Mr. Sinclair's remains.

"You know this isn't over, right?" he asked.

"Intermission," she said with a promising smile.

"Exactly," he said.

She slipped off his lap and headed for the kitchen. He followed.

"Do you want coffee for the road?" she asked.

"No, I'd better get moving," he said.

She retrieved his coat and walked him to the door. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Drive safe," she told him.

"I will," he said as he opened the door. He stepped out of the apartment and was pulling the door shut behind him when he stopped suddenly and poked his head back inside. "Oh, and you might as well bring an overnight bag with you tomorrow," he said with a grin and then shut the door.

When Booth was gone, Brennan fixed herself a cup of chamomile tea and sat down with her laptop at the kitchen table. She knew sleep would not come easily tonight. She opened a file titled "Journal," entered a password, and began to type.


	30. Parker

30 Parker

The roads to Rebecca's house were mostly snow-covered, forcing Booth to drive slowly. Despite a forecast of snow flurries with little accumulation, the snow kept falling. When he arrived, he was happy to see that someone remembered to turn on the porch light. In better weather, the small brick cottage had a neatly trimmed yard and several container plants adorning the elevated covered porch. Now by contrast, the house was stark and cold under the blanket of snow. Only the bright yellow porch light offered any sense warmth. He stamped his feet to knock off the snow and knocked lightly at the door, which opened almost immediately.

Drew invited him inside and helped him gather Parker's things for the weekend. Every so often the sound of sobbing reached them. The protector in him wanted to seek out the mother of his son and offer her what comfort he could, but he didn't want to make her feel even worse. Once Parker's things were packed into his car, Booth slipped into his son's room to wake him.

"Hey little man," Booth whispered, pushing back a few golden brown curls. Parker slapped at Booth's hand in his sleep, and rolled over. Booth chuckled and shook Parker's shoulder, "Wake up, Park."

"Hm? Daddy?" said the sleepy child. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. Booth knelt down beside his bed.

"Guess what?" Booth asked his son. Parker looked at him expectantly through heavy lidded eyes. "I missed you so much, Mom decided to let me come get you tonight instead of waiting for tomorrow. Is that okay with you?"

"Yea," Parker said groggily and reached up to hug his father. Booth embraced him and lifted him out of bed. Drew looked on from the doorway. He caught Booth's eye and nodded, offering a weak smile.

"Can we still go to hockey in the morning?" Parker asked.

"Of course we can, Bub. Whatever you want for breakfast before the game, too," Booth said.

"Cool," Parker said.

Booth waited while Parker got dressed, then got him settled in the car. He exchanged a few parting words with Drew, expressed his concern for Rebecca's mother, and asked to be kept informed. Parker fell asleep again before they reached Booth's house. Booth grabbed one of Parker's bags and then carried his sleeping son inside and put him to bed.

Booth fixed himself a cup of hot chocolate and hit speed-dial 1 on his phone. After three rings, Brennan answered quietly, "Booth, is everything all right?"

"As right as it can be." he replied. "We're home. I didn't wake you did I?"

"No, you didn't. Is there any more news about her mother?" she asked.

"No, I don't expect I'll hear anything until tomorrow or Sunday. I didn't even see Rebecca when I picked up Parker."

"I'm sure she's upset and didn't want to let Parker know anything is wrong," Brennan said.

"Yea. You're probably right." He paused before saying, "I'm really sorry about tonight, Bones."

Brennan shook her head, knowing full well he couldn't see her, and sighed. "Are you sorry we started, or are you sorry we didn't finish?" she asked candidly. "Because now that you're not here, I'm starting to wonder if this is a good idea."

Booth felt as if a cold hand had just gripped his heart. His thoughts raced frantically for a moment before he responded. "First of all, I'm sorry I'm not with you right now. I would rather discuss this face to face. Second, I would very much like to continue what we started earlier." Booth thought to himself _"The only way we're finished is if she sends me away or I'm dead."_ He gave himself a little shake, determined to figure out what she meant. "Third, I need to know exactly what you mean by 'this.' Do you mean you're having second thoughts about accepting my conditions, or do you mean you're worried we're putting our working partnership at risk?" He was met with silence on the line. When she didn't answer, Booth's gut told him she was scared.

Never one to doubt his gut, Booth let out a silent sigh of relief. He spoke tenderly into the phone, "Let me tell you something, Temperance. I don't believe for one minute you're having doubts about you and me. I think you're worried about our working partnership because it's all connected. You wanted this relationship, in part, because we spend so much time together."

Finally breaking her silence in a rush of words, Brennan asked, "But what if this, if our relationship becomes common knowledge? What if the bureau severs our partnership? Will we still have enough time for each other?"

"Yes." he said emphatically. "I will always have time for you. But let's look at it from another angle. The FBI didn't break us up when I arrested Max. We work really well together despite all the craziness around us. Sweets has already made us go on a pseudo-date, and he and Carolyn know we kissed a couple years ago. Hell, I'm pretty sure Sweets has been pushing us to admit we've been more than just partners for a while now. I don't think he would do that just to have a reason to split us up. I'm sure we can figure out a way to keep working together now."

Brennan considered his words for a moment. "All of that is true," she said. "All right, I will endeavor to control my worst-case scenario tendencies."

Booth smiled. "Don't hold them back. Tell me! Remember what I said earlier tonight? Just keep telling me what you're thinking and give me a chance to respond."

"I remember. And, that's what I did," she said tartly.

"Yea you did. Do me a favor, Bones?"

"If I can, I will," she replied.

"Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day," he said in a near whisper.

She shivered at the promise she heard in his words and said, "I'll do my best. And, if not, there's always coffee," she said.

They exchanged "good nights," and he put down his phone. He finished his hot chocolate and turned on ESPN. Before he knew it, he was taking his own advice; he fell asleep on the couch.


	31. Guilty Pleasure

31 Guilty Pleasure

After saying goodnight to Booth, sleep wasn't an option. Instead, she decided to work on her manuscript. She became so involved with fine tuning a section of dialog, it was nearly 2 am before she shut her laptop and headed for bed. She was pleased with the progress she made on the book, but the sight of disheveled bed covers instantly reminded of what she would rather have done that night, and her mood deflated. Turning her back on the rumpled bed, she entered her bathroom, brushed her teeth and washed her face. She took her time smoothing on some body lotion, then decided it would be a good time to pluck a few errant eyebrow strands. Unable to think of any other toiletry or hygiene tasks, she could delay it no further. Brennan marched herself to the bed, straightened the covers, and lay down. As she settled into bed, she wrapped the covers snuggly around her shoulders. The faint smell of Booth's cologne lingered all around her. Sleep did not come easily.

Brennan didn't rise the next morning until half-past eight. She showered and dressed quickly. Breakfast consisted of a plain bagel and a cup of coffee, which she consumed on the drive to work. _Car Talk_ was on the local public radio station. While not her favorite program, she enjoyed listening to the hosts banter with their callers and each other.

The cavernous lab seemed to spring to life when she flipped a few switches to illuminate the Medico-Legal lab. As Cam promised, the bones were cleaned and ready for her initial inspection. She donned her lab coat and gathered her equipment. The security system beeped as she slid her card through the slot and mounted the steps to the forensic platform. The slow pace of a quiet Saturday morning at the lab was one of her guilty pleasures. No distractions and plenty of work. Her voice began to echo in the empty lab as she vocalized her initial observations for the digital recorder.

After finding no obvious clues during her initial assessment, Brennan turned her attention to the details. Measurements would provide an approximate height, which would assist in establishing an independent confirmation of identity. Such detail would not likely be necessary in court, but Brennan was thorough in her work. She also found the exacting work a balm to her soul. Hours flew past without notice as she worked, methodically recording her measurements and any anomalies on each bone. She noted significant scavenger dentition marks on several bones. On the sternum, in addition to rodent dentition marks, she noticed a kerf mark along one edge – patterning suggested an anterior to posterior penetrating wound. It was most definitely not a bite.

Brennan quickly grabbed the L4 rib and pulled a lighted magnifying lens mounted on a swing arm across the table to her work area. She looked at the sternal end under magnification. Again, a slight groove anterior to posterior. Slight enough that she might have missed it were it not for the obvious kerf mark on the sternum. She paired the sternum and rib in their natural position and noted the approximate width of the blade that may have penetrated the heart of Mark Sinclair.

Brennan's heart rate increased at her discovery. She gently replaced the sternum and L4 rib on the steel table. Then she instinctively removed one glove and reached for her phone. Her thumb was poised over the send button after keying speed dial 1, when she remembered he was with Parker. She pressed the end button instead and looked at the time. 3:12 pm. She had worked through lunch without noticing. If she called him now, he would ask if she had eaten. A slight smile played across her lips as she recalled his overprotective nature. Booth usually bullied her into eating, even on the weekends. As if on cue, her stomach began to rumble. _"Great, my gastro system even thinks he's right," _she thought and chuckled at her own irrational internal dialog.

Based on her body's reaction to the thought of food, Brennan decided her news could wait a couple of hours. She was hungry, and she had a preliminary cause of death. She quickly left instructions for trace analysis of the kerf marks, signed off on an order to cast the marks, and for continuation of the detailed examination of the remains.

Once home, she grabbed a yogurt and added some granola to tide her over until supper. She was licking her spoon when her cell phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID, smiled, and then answered, "Brennan."

"Hey, Bones. You still at the lab?" Booth asked.

"No, I'm home," she replied.

"Really? You feeling okay? Did you eat lunch?"

"Really. I haven't been home long, though. I feel great, and yes, I ate," she replied smugly.

"I'm surprised. I thought Parker and I might have to lure you out of the lab with a plate of our famous garlic bread," he said with a laugh.

"Very funny, Booth. How is Parker by the way? Does he know his grandmother is in the hospital?" she asked.

"Parker's fine. Tired but fine. He knows Marge is sick, the doctors are taking care of her, and that Rebecca is spending all her time with her right now. I didn't figure he needed too much detail yet. He also didn't want to take a nap, so you might get to see cranky Parker tonight," he said. His voice became distant, as if he pulled the phone away from his mouth a bit.

Brennan heard Parker in the background say, "Daaaad, puleeze." Booth chuckled and said, "We'll see, buddy." Speaking normally into the phone again, Booth said, "Anyway, we were planning on starting supper in little while. Think you can be here by 6?"

Brennan glanced at her watch and nodded. "That shouldn't pose a problem, even with traffic."

"Great. I guess we'll see you soon then," Booth said.

"Wait, Booth?" Brennan asked, hoping he hadn't yet hung up.

"I'm here," he said.

"How should we behave, in front of Parker I mean?" she asked.

"He's a kid, Bones. Keep it PG," he said.

Brennan sighed loud enough for Booth to hear it over the phone. "That's not what I meant," she said seriously. "What I mean is, do you want him to know about us?"

"Yea, generally. I mean, he's going to find out eventually. I don't see any point in hiding. Do you?" Booth asked.

"Only if you think it might be better to discuss it with Rebecca first," she said.

Speaking quietly, Booth said, "Bones, I don't want to hide how I feel anymore. Especially not in my own home. I don't think she will have a problem with this. But if she does, then I'll handle it." They were both silent for a few moments.

"Okay," Brennan said, with an accepting lilt to her voice. "I'll be there soon."

"See you soon, Bones."


	32. Male Bonding

32 Male Bonding

Booth called for Parker when he hung up the phone. "Time to start supper, Parker. Go wash your hands so you can help." Booth began pulling necessary items from the refrigerator and cabinets and then washed his own hands in the kitchen sink. Parker joined him in the kitchen and held up his hands for inspection.

"Flip 'em," Booth said to his son, who obliged. "Good enough," Booth said with a grin. "We're having spaghetti tonight, but instead of meat sauce, were going to make meatballs."

"Aw, I like meat sauce. How come we're doing meatballs instead?" Parker asked.

"Because, we're having company tonight. Bones is coming over, and she doesn't eat meat," Booth told him. "Do you remember what someone who doesn't eat meat is called?" he asked.

Parker nodded. "Yup. They're veggie-terrians," he said proudly.

"Vegetarians, that's right," Booth smiled at his son. "So, we're gonna fix us some meatballs to have with our spaghetti, and that way Bones can still eat the sauce."

"Can we make bread too?" Parker asked.

"Of course! We can't have spaghetti without garlic bread. It just wouldn't be right." Booth dragged a foot stool over to the counter with his foot, and Parker climbed up so he could expectantly. Father and son worked together adding ingredients to a large stainless steel mixing bowl. Booth chopped, Parker mixed. Parsley, onion, garlic, green pepper, a bit of oregano, some salt and pepper, bread crumbs, and finally, Booth unwrapped some ground beef and added it to the bowl.

"Okay, Bub. I want you to mix all those spices into the meat real good. Then we'll make the meatballs and cook them."

"Okay, Dad. This is my favorite part," Parker said with a huge grin as he squished the meat into the bowl through his fingers.

"Don't start making meatballs until I get a pan ready for them," Booth cautioned.

"Ookaay, Dad," Parker exaggerated.

Booth chuckled and put a skillet on the stove. He drizzled some oil into the pan and turned up the heat. Then he grabbed a cookie sheet and cut a section of waxed paper to fit it. "Here's the pan for meatballs," he said as he put the cookie sheet beside Parker on the counter. "We haven't made these in a while. You remember how?" he asked.

"Yea, like this, right?" Parker asked as he rolled a bit of the seasoned beef between in palms and waited for his father's approval.

Booth nodded and said, "Good job. Keep making 'em till you fill up the pan or run out of meat."

Booth left the meatballs to Parker and washed his hands again before turning his attention to the sauce and salad. Parker chatted happily away about the day, but then fell silent after saying, "I wish Mom could have seen my game." He squished his hands back into the beef mixture and made a final meatball.

"I know, Parker. She woulda loved to have watched the game, 'cause you played great. You'll just have to tell her all about it when Grandma is feeling better. Maybe you can tell them both at the same time," Booth suggested. Parker nodded, but didn't say anything more.

"Finished with those meatballs?" Booth asked.

"Yea, but there's a lot left over," Parker said.

"Okay, slide the stool over to the sink and wash your hands again, and your arms," Booth instructed. He turned on the water for his son so the faucet handle wouldn't be slimy. Parker was covered in bits of seasoned beef nearly to his elbows. Booth was surprised there was any left in the bowl based on how much was on Parker. "We'll just use the rest for something else. How about meatloaf for tomorrow?"

Parker shrugged while he worked the soap all over his arms. "Mac and cheese is good with meatloaf, huh?"

"You bet," Booth answered thoughtfully. "And I know someone who makes killer mac and cheese" Booth mused silently while he began adding the slightly misshapen meatballs into the hot skillet. _"I wonder if I'd be pushing my luck asking for three in a row?"_ he thought.

Parker dried his hands and then pushed the stool back to the counter. "Can I cut the bread, Dad?"

"Better let me do that, Bub. But, you can use a regular knife to spread the butter on after we rub the slices with garlic. Why don't you set the table for three. We'll need..." Booth began.

"Forks, and knives, and big spoons to spin the s'ghetti!" Parker finished excitedly.

"Don't forget napkins, plates, and salad bowls. Can you reach the dishes?" Booth asked.

"I don't think so, Dad," Parker said, stretching on his stool to open the cabinet that held the dishes.

"All right. Start with the silverware, and I'll get the others down for you," Booth said. Parker retrieved the silverware and got to work.

Booth watched his son with pride for a moment before he set out the dishes. He wasn't sure how many kids Parker's age would be so willing to do simple chores or help make dinner. But his gut feeling told him Parker was in the minority. He tried his best to make sure Parker was exposed to a little bit of everything around the house, and he never assigned chores as punishment. He hoped his son was as well behaved when he was with Rebecca. Realistically, Booth knew Parker wasn't a perfect angel. He had temper tantrums and acted out occasionally like any kid. Parker had also recently discovered he could get out of trouble by batting his eyelashes and flashing the same smile Booth used often enough to smooth over difficult situations. But in general, Parker was a very good kid, and Booth enjoyed every minute he could spend with his son.

Booth turned the meatballs and stirred the sauce before turning his attention to the crusty loaf of bread. He began slicing it on an angle and spread the slices out on the cookie sheet after he discarded the waxed paper. Parker joined him when he finished setting the table.

"I think I could do that, Dad," Parker said, pointing towards the loaf of bread Booth was slicing.

"You do, huh?" Booth asked. He was almost finished, and decided he would let his son try—with help. "Okay. Climb up. You can make the last two cuts, with me guiding your hands."

"But I wanna do it myself," Parker said with a hint of a whine entering his voice.

"Parker," Booth said steadily. "I don't even like to do something dangerous for the first time without help. Do you want a chance to learn to do it safely, or do you want to get upset with me?"

"I'm sorry, Dad," Parker said shyly. "I wanna _learn_ to do it myself." Parker emphasized the word learn.

"Okay, then. First things first. You need to always hold the knife by the handle. Don't let your hand slide up near the blade because you could loose your grip and cut yourself," Booth showed him where to wrap his fingers around the handle.

"Then you take your other hand and tuck your fingertips under so you don't cut them, and hold the bread steady with that hand." Booth put his hand over top of that of his son's and helped him hold the loaf steady, but lightly, making sure Parker would feel he was doing it.

"Now, let's pull the knife towards us and down on an angle. Let the weight the knife do most of the work," Booth guided his son's hand and started the cut. He let Parker do most of the work, but left his hands wrapped around his son's.

"Feel how we pushed a little harder to start, then the knife did all the work?" Booth asked.

"Yep," Parker said proudly.

"Okay, now we push the knife away from us and down to the cutting board," Booth helped him finish the first cut.

"Cool," Parker said.

"Okay, My hands are staying put, but you do all the work this time," Booth said.

"'kay," Parker said with concentration as he lifted the knife and put it down against the bread on the angle and pulled it towards them and down. The knife skittered a bit across the top until Parker remembered to push down on it to start the cut. He looked over his shoulder at Booth when he finished the cut and gave him a big grin.

"Good job, Parker," Booth told him and then took the knife from him son's hands. "Grab the garlic." Parker handed a clove to his father, who sliced it in half and handed the split clove back to him.

"I still don't want you to use sharp knives alone, but we'll get you cutting more things from now on," Booth said and Parker nodded happily. "Butter and cheese are out. Fix the bread. I'll turn the oven on and get the water boiling," Booth said. "Bones will be here soon."

"Parker, there's something I've been wanting to tell you today," Booth said while he filled the pasta pot with water.

"About Grandma?" Parker asked hesitantly.

"No, about me," Booth said.

"What?" Parker asked as he finished rubbing the split garlic over the bread slices.

"Well, I wanted to tell you that I have a new girlfriend," Booth said.

"Eww," Parker said plainly and wrinkled his nose. "So, who is she and does she know Dr. Bones is coming over tonight? I bet she won't like that!" Parker said, laughing. "'Cause Dr. Bones is pretty."

Booth chuckled. "Yea, she knows Bones is coming over tonight." Booth put the pasta pot on the stove and turned a dial to set the burner temperature. "Buddy, she is Bones."

"Really, Dad?" Parker asked with wide eyes. "That's cool! She's really nice and she doesn't roll her eyes when she thinks I can't see her, and her Dad is really neat!"

"Glad you approve," Booth said with a smirk. "But who rolls their eyes at you?"

Parker looked slightly guilty at having told something he had meant to keep secret. "Um, it was a long time ago, Dad."

"Well, was it one of my girlfriends or one of Mom's boyfriends?"

"Yours. It was Tessa. I don't think she liked me," Parker said quietly.

"Hmph. That was a while ago. Good thing she's not around any more, or I'd have to break up with her all over again," Booth said seriously and then let a smile slowly spread across his lips. Parker looked up at him and started giggling. The doorbell rang while the Booth boys were laughing. Booth gave Parker a quick hug and tousled his hair. "That'll be Bones. You want to get the door?"

"Sure!" Parker said hopping down from the stool. He ran to the door and threw it open wide.


	33. Domestic Bliss

33. Domestic Bliss

Brennan stood before Booth's door. She was looking forward to seeing him, but apprehensive about intruding on his time with Parker. She adjusted the strap of her overnight bag, and rang the bell. She heard feet pounding rapidly towards the door and watched it swing open, revealing a grinning Parker Booth.

"Hi, Dr. Bones!" Parker exclaimed.

"Hello, Parker," Brennan said warmly, shifting a brown paper bag from from one arm to the other.

"Dad's in the kitchen. We're making s'ghetti," he told her as she walked into the hallway.

"Hey, Bones. Come on in," Booth called from the kitchen.

To Parker, Brennan said, "It smells very good. Did you help?"

"Yup, I made the meatballs and the garlic bread. But you're not gonna eat the meatballs, right?" Parker asked.

"That's right," Brennan responded. She followed Parker into the kitchen and placed the grocery sack on a clear section of counter.

"Supper's almost ready," Booth said as he walked by her to put away a few ingredients. On his way back to the stove, he rested his hand on the small of her back and gently kissed her cheek. He tugged briefly on the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder, winked, and said, "You can put that in my room if you want. Parker can show you the way."

"Thanks. I brought some wine for supper," she said pulling out a bottle of Shiraz and a bottle of sparkling grape juice from the sack. "I thought Parker might like to join us," she said with a grin.

"That was nice, Bones. Thanks. Why don't put your stuff down while I finish in here," Booth suggested.

"Is there anything I may do to help?" she asked.

"Nope. The Booth boys have everything under control. If you need anything just ask Parker. Right, buddy?"

"Right Dad. C'mon Dr. Bones. I'll show you my room," Parker said grabbing Brennan's hand. Brennan smiled again and looked at Booth over her shoulder as Parker led her down the hallway.

Booth heard Parker tell Brennan, "I had a hockey game this morning, and we won 5 to 2!"

Brennan then asked, "Congratulations. What position do you play?"

"Center, just like my Dad," Parker said. Their voices became muffled as Parker led Brennan around the corner.

Booth quickly added the spaghetti to the boiling water, covered the leftover meat and tucked it into the refrigerator, and tidied up the kitchen before Brennan and Parker returned. Parker was giving her an animated play-by-play of each goal and near goal, and Brennan actually looked interested. They sat down at the table while Booth popped the garlic bread in the oven to toast and then carried the wine and grape juice to the table. When Parker took a breath, Booth asked, "So what did you do all day today, Bones?"

"Oh, I spent most of it at the lab." She glanced at Parker and said, "I believe I've determined cause o, ... COD." She paused and waited for Booth to give her and indication as to whether she should continue talking about the victim and her findings in Parker's presence. He shrugged slightly and gave her a hesitant look while he turned the meatballs.

"I found a kerf mark on the sternum," she rubbed the tips two fingers on her right hand on her own breastbone to indicate the location. "He probably died of a ... broken heart." Brennan glanced between Parker and Booth. When Booth smiled, a warm sensation welled in her chest.

"After I found the kerfing, I decided to call it a day. I left a note for Hodgins to check the sternum and rib for particulates, and a note for the intern of the week to to cast an impression. Hopefully the cast will lead us to the weapon."

Booth was about to ask about Cam's initial assessment of blunt force trauma to Sinclair's head, when Parker asked, "Don't you get to take a day off, Dr. Bones?"

Brennan turned her full attention back to Parker. "I didn't have to work today, Parker. I wanted to work," she said. "I wanted to find some answers so your Dad and I can solve the case we're working."

Parker looked thoughtful for a moment and then said, "When I grow up, I want a job I like as much as you and Daddy like your job."

"Me too, Parker. Me too," Booth said. "Hey, Bones? Cam thought it was blunt force trauma...," Booth was silenced by the oven timer's beeping. "Hold that thought," he said, then turned off the timer and pulled the bread out of the oven. "Parker, grab the salad and the dressings from the fridge. Bones, since you didn't take my advice and put your foot up, grab 3 wine glasses out of that cabinet," Booth said pointing to a glass-front cupboard near the refrigerator. "You can pour the wine while I get the rest of this on the table."

Brennan waited for Parker, whose arms were laden with a large salad and two bottles of dressing, to move past her and then retrieved the glasses from the cupboard. Booth drained the spaghetti and then transferred the spaghetti, bread, sauce, and meatballs to serving bowls. Parker carried each bowl to the table while Brennan uncorked the wine and opened the sparkling grape juice and Booth grabbed the Parmesan from refrigerator. When Booth turned around, he saw Brennan pouring grape juice into a wine glass for Parker. When she leaned over to place it in front of him, she ruffled his hair and thanked him for bringing everything to the table. Booth stopped in his tracks. His pulse quickened and a warm shiver of desire passed through his body. He couldn't remember a time when he was more happy than this moment. The woman he loved was in his home, caring for his son. It was a scene that played out on a daily basis around the world, but seeing Brennan in such a domestic role made Booth feel like the luckiest man to ever draw breath.

Booth released a breath he didn't realize he was holding and joined them at the table. He held out a chair for Brennan across the table from Parker and then took his seat at the head of the table.

"Everything looks wonderful, Booth," she said. He offered her a quick smile in return.

"Parker, do you want to say the blessing?" Booth asked.

"Yeah!" Parker said enthusiastically. He reached his hand out to Booth who took Parker's small in his and then held out his right hand to Brennan. She raised an eyebrow in Booth's direction, but placed her left hand in his and waited. Parker and Booth bowed their heads. Brennan observed them silently; a slight smile played across her lips.

"Dear Lord, thank you for all this food me and Daddy made, and thank you for letting Dr. Bones come over to share it with us. Amen."

"Amen," Booth said as he gently squeezed the hands of the two most important people in his life. "Dig in."


	34. Work First

34 Work First

Brennan felt slightly uncomfortable when Booth asked Parker to say a blessing over their food. She considered telling Parker he should thank Booth for the food and her company, not some invisible man in the sky, but it wasn't her place to have such a discussion with the boy.

Despite her mild discomfort, Brennan enjoyed supper immensely. Booth was a decent cook, and Parker was a joy to be around. He was an enthusiastic and curious child. He even turned their conversation back to the case when they were nearly through with the meal.

"Daddy, you didn't finish asking Dr. Bones about your case. Is it 'cause I'm here?" Parker asked.

Booth's gaze traveled from Parker to Brennan and back again. "Bones and I are going to work on the case after you go to bed, Parker. It can keep until then."

"It's 'cause I'm too little, isn't it?" Parker asked again.

"It's partly because your Mom wouldn't be happy if I talked about the gory details of my cases in front of you Park. But mostly, I don't want you to have to deal with any of it. Ever. Not just because you're young," Booth said honestly.

"But I helped you with a case when I found that finger. It was really neat!" Parker said, pushing the issue.

Brennan leaned over towards Booth and said quietly, "He did seem to find it more of a curiosity rather than disgusting."

"Oh, no you don't. You're not going to gang up on me on this one," he said waggling a finger between Parker and Brennan.

"Merely an observation, Booth," she said.

"That's beside the point," Booth said, becoming animated.

"It seems completely relevant to take into consideration Parker's comfort level with the subject matter," Brennan said.

"Nope, no case discussions with Parker. Rebecca would have my head, and I'm not really keen on the idea either. You did great earlier with that broken heart thing, Bones. Just leave it at that," Booth said humorlessly.

Parker's eyes grew wide while they bickered, completely unnoticed by Booth and Brennan.

After a moment of silent contemplation, Brennan relented. "Okay, fine. No case discussions right now." She turned her attention to Parker and said, "But, if you ever want to learn about the human body or the skeletal system in general, I'll be happy to tell you about it, Parker."

"Now that," Booth said with a smile for Brennan and a wink for Parker, "is fine."

"Wow, did you guys just have a fight?" Parker asked. "You're not going to kiss and stuff now, are you?"

Brennan glanced at Booth who turned to her, with a wide grin. Their eyes locked for a moment and they both erupted with laughter.

"We'll definitely save the kissing for later, Parker," Booth said through his laughter.

"Eew, I hope I'm in bed by then," Parker said. He sat and watched his father and Brennan laughing and holding hands at the table. When neither looked his way again, he asked, "May I please be excused?"

Booth tore his eyes from Brennan's to focus on Parker. "Sure thing. Just take your plate the the sink and I'll clean up. Thanks for your help today."

"I liked making the meatballs. It was fun," Parker said while carrying his plate to the sink. "Can I see if there's a hockey game on tonight?"

"Sure," Booth said. "If you find a game, maybe we'll get started on these files before you head to bed."

"Okay, Dad. See ya, Dr. Bones," Parker said as he headed to the living room.

"He's a great kid, Booth," Brennan said.

"I think so," Booth agreed. "C'mon, help me clean this mess up." Booth stood, but didn't release her hand. Brennan stood, and Booth wrapped his arms around her, enfolding her a warm embrace.

"Careful," she cautioned. "Wouldn't want to gross out Parker."

"He's in the other room," Booth said quietly; then lowered his lips to hers. Their kiss began featherlight. Booth pulled back slightly, but Brennan slid a hand to his neck to pull him into a deeper kiss. She parted her lips to gently graze his with her teeth. A low hiss of pleasure from Booth quickened Brennan's pulse, but he moved away again. He buried his face in her hair and whispered in her ear, "Work first, Bones," then nipped at her earlobe.

"How is that work?" she hissed quietly.

"It's not," he said with a grin and released her. "Let's clean up."

She sighed, but released his hand and began clearing the table. They worked easily together, rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher. While they finished in the kitchen, they could hear Parker cheering occasionally at the television set.

"I guess he found a game," Booth said.

Brennan nodded. "Seems so."

"I really do need to get through these logs tonight. Still willing to help?"

"Yes," she said. "Of course, I'd rather be otherwise occupied, but I suppose the quicker we get through the logs, the quicker we can both find something else to do."

"My thoughts exactly. I'll grab the files," Booth said. "Parker's happy watching the game. But, I'd rather work out there so we can keep an eye on him."

"Lead the way," Brennan said.

Booth retrieved his laptop and the relevant paper files, and they settled on the couch. Parker was sitting on an ottoman in front of the television. A commercial was blaring from the set, extolling the virtues of an energy bar.

"Turn down the volume just a bit, Parker," Booth said. Parker poked out his bottom lip, but complied. "That's better," Booth said with a nod for Parker, who was once again absorbed in the game.

"Okay, I've pulled all the transcript logs that relate to 'fools gold' in any way. We just need to read through these phone calls and see if any of it means anything based on what we know," he said and handed Brennan a stack of folders.

"Seems straight forward enough," she said while Booth put a note pad and pen beside her on the couch.

"I hope so. I'd really like to get a lead out of this. I'm supposed to hear from Tom tomorrow afternoon. You want to sit in on that?" he asked.

"What time?" she asked distractedly. She was already beginning to skim through the first folder.

"Probably around 3. You want me to conference you in?" he asked.

"I suppose it depends on what I'm doing when he calls," she said.

"All right, we'll play it by ear," Booth said. He was disappointed that she hadn't immediately agreed, but managed to keep any hint of regret from his voice.

She nodded and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear while she continued to pour through the file. Booth nodded, more to himself than anyone, and then opened the first file on his lap and began to read.


	35. No Mistake

35. No Mistake

The game ended in a win for the Capitals over the Maple Leafs, 2-1. Parker fell asleep curled up on the ottoman while watching the post-game show. Booth knew he should get Parker to bed, but instead he grabbed the remote and turned down the volume a little further. All he could focus on now were the maddening words that kept popping up in the transcripts he was reading. Fool's gold, fools gold, fool, fools, and gold. All of those terms were cropping up in the transcripts in various contexts. It was painstaking work, and every transcript so far seemed unrelated to his 'fool's gold' hunch about the pyrite mine.

By the time the post-game wrap up had finished, his eyes felt raw and gritty from the constant reading. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear the sensation. When that failed, he put down the transcript and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, which didn't help much either. Brennan looked over at him and whispered, "Eye drops?"

"Yeah," he whispered back. "I have some. You okay?" he asked as he stood up and stretched.

She nodded and glanced towards Parker's curled form. His knees were drawn up close to his chest, and at least one of his hands was tucked under his head. From her vantage point, she could see small fingertips peeking through blond curls. She set aside the file in her hands and asked quietly, "Where are the drops? I'll get them, if you want to put Parker to bed."

"Medicine cabinet in my bathroom, thanks," Booth said. He knelt down on one knee beside Parker and lifted him slowly to his chest. Parker barely stirred when Booth stood up and carried him down the hall.

Brennan made her way to the bathroom and found the medicine cabinet behind a hinged mirror over the sink. The cabinet was neatly stocked with shaving cream, deodorant, band-aids, swabs, antibiotic ointment, burn cream, hair styling gel, cologne, lotion, and a few over-the-counter pain and cold remedy products. The eye drops were tucked behind a nearly empty prescription bottle on the top shelf, which she noticed was for Hydrocodone/APAP 7.5/750, a generic narcotic painkiller. A stab of despair coursed through her chest when she turned the prescription bottle and saw the date, the day of his "funeral." She snatched the eye drop bottle and shut the cabinet quickly.

"That's what you get for snooping, Brennan," she told herself silently. She turned around and leaned against the sink, then closed her eyes and let her head roll down so her chin rested against her chest, while she took a few deep breaths to compose herself. No matter how hard she tried to put his faked death behind her, it still brought up horrible memories and a nagging fear of loss.

A minute or so later, the tightness in her chest began to dissipate, and she turned for the door. She walked through the doorway into the hall and gasped loudly as Booth caught her by surprise about the waist and swept her into his arms. "Shhh," he said as he nuzzled against her neck. He backed her against the wall beside the doorframe, trailing kisses down her neck, his hands exploring her curvaceous figure. Her gasp of surprise quickly turned to moans of pleasure, and the sounds of her desire and the taste of her skin sent his senses reeling.

She threaded the fingers of her free hand through his hair and roughly pulled his head up. A sharply moaned, "Ow," briefly escaped his lips before she smothered it with a demanding kiss. The despair she so recently felt was transforming into an insatiable hunger. Remotely, she hoped she had not actually hurt him, but the thought flittered away as their tongues became locked in a frantic battle for dominance, their joint need growing exponentially stronger. Rational thought was gone. Only this mattered.

She pulled back far enough to pant, "Bed. Now." Then her swollen lips found his once again.

Booth needed no further urging. He slid both his arms around her waist and then dropped them lower to her hips and lifted her, holding her steadily between the wall and his own body. Instinctively, she leaned into him and wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. The eye drop bottle fell to the floor unnoticed when he turned and carried her to his room.

Brennan managed to pull her blouse most of the way to her neck by the time Booth pushed the bedroom door shut with his foot. When he leaned her back against the bed, he was able to free his hand left hand to pull her blouse the rest of the way over her head in a fluid motion, trapping her arms above her head against the bed. With his right hand, he gently caressed the smooth skin peeking above the silky smooth fabric of the pewter bra that clung to her like liquid silver. She arched her back to lean into his touch. "Booth, let go of my arms," she said, writhing under his steady hand.

"I will, but not just yet," he rasped, rubbing the back of his head where she had pulled his hair. "My bed. My rules. Otherwise, we're gonna wind up hurting each other, physically. And, I don't know about you, but I'm a lot more interested in pleasure," he said, emphasizing his point by dragging a finger low across her abdomen, causing her to jump under his touch, "than I am pain right about now."

"Oooh. Why do you have to decide to be rational at a time like this?" Brennan nearly whined, still writhing under his touch.

"Temperance, we talk about everything, why should this be any different?" he asked in a hushed voice, then released her arms and stretched out beside her on the bed. "Tell me what you want, and I'll do everything in my power to make it happen."

Her eyes blazed when she rolled up on her side to face him. "I dont' want to think, I want to feel," she said, trembling. "I just want to fe...."

Booth silenced her with a soft, probing kiss, and pulled her blouse the rest of the way off and tossing it to the floor. He moved his kisses from her generous mouth to her neck and then her ear and whispered, "Then let me lead, Bones. I won't disappoint you. Just let go."

She turned her head slightly so she could gaze into his eyes. "Okay," she said simply, trusting him fully.

Booth smiled. "Yeah, everything's gonna be okay." Booth pulled her close against his chest until her breathing became more regular.

The fierce need she felt earlier succumbed to a slowly burning desire.

"If it's all right with you, Temperance, I'd really like to make love with you now," Booth said with hint of humor in his voice.

"I think that's a wonderful idea, Seeley," she said, caressing his stubbled cheek.

Booth stood up and pulled her to her feet with him. He leaned in for another slow kiss while he unfastened her jeans and pushed them down past her hips, revealing her matching silvery panties. She stepped out of her jeans and helped him out of his.

They disrobed in between caresses and kisses. When Booth pulled his t-shirt over his head, Brennan ran her hands over his pectorals and kissed the smooth scarred skin below his right clavicle. Booth wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck while he unfastened her bra. He slipped the straps slowly over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

When he stepped back to admire her beauty, she took the opportunity to relieve him of his boxers. Seeing his sculpted form generated a new urgency with her. She slipped her own panties off and sat back down on the bed. He stepped towards her and she extended a hand to him. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips as he joined her.

Brennan lay back against the pillows, watching his every move. He started by planting featherlight kisses against the tender skin inside her ankles and slowly worked his way up her legs, with his darting tongue, nibbling lips and massaging fingers. Her skin pebbled under his ministrations.

Brennan ran her hands through his hair when he reached her thighs, and she gently persuaded him to refocus his attention on her lips. He claimed her mouth with his and probed deeply with his tongue. Brennan arched her back and shifted beneath him. As one they began to move with an ancient rhythm that carried them away on waves of pure sensation. Their bodies were covered with a slick sheen when Booth groaned and cried, "Oh, God, Bones," and Brennan gasped and shuddered beneath him, incapable of speech.

They clung together afterward, legs twined. Neither wanted to break their contact. Booth cradled her head against his shoulder and rolled over on his back, pulling her with him. Brennan snuggled against him and splayed her hand across his chest. She sighed contentedly and said, "That was...."

"Amazing," he finished. "And definitely not a mistake." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "I love you."

"I know," she whispered. "I love you too." She propped herself up on one elbow suddenly and asked, "What is wrong with us? Why on earth have we denied ourselves this for so long?"

Booth chuckled. "We'll just have to make up for lost time," he said, and pulled her close again.

Brennan settled against him and mumbled, "I suppose I can live with that." Booth pulled the covers up over them with one leg until he could reach it with his free hand. He tucked the sheet around them and buried his face in her hair, taking in the scent of her. Their breathing slowed, and a short time later, they drifted to sleep wrapped in each other's arms.


	36. Sunday Morning

36 Sunday Morning

_Seeley Booth's Apartment_

Brennan awoke slowly, aware only that she had a slightly stiff neck. The fog of sleep cleared quickly though, and she realized she was not alone. In fact, she was cradled in Booth's arms, her head on his shoulder, which would account for her stiff neck. He smiled down at her and whispered, "Good morning," and kissed her forehead.

"Good morning yourself. What time is it?" she asked sleepily, rubbing her neck.

"It's early yet. Just after six," he said. "Roll over, let me work that out for you. Besides, my arm's asleep," he said, winking at her.

"I'm sorry," she said rolling away from him onto her stomach. She felt Booth shift beside her. "Oh, Crap. We didn't finish reviewing the transcripts last night," she said and let out a puff of breath against the sheets as Booth's strong hands began to massage her sore neck.

"I'm not complaining," he said. She was silent for a short time while he continued to work out the kink in her neck.

"You're going to take Parker to church today, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yep. We usually go to 11 o'clock Mass, which means we can work on the files some more this morning if you like."

"Or, I could work on them while you're at church," she offered.

"Or that," Booth agreed. "Feel better?" he asked, smoothing his hands across her back.

"Mmhm. Much better, thanks," she said, rolling over again to face him. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed beside her. Her eyes were drawn to a long thick scar running down the inside of his left thigh. "I knew that one must have been bad," she said quietly while her fingers traced over it.

"It took a while to heal, but it's probably the cleanest wound I've recovered from. They did me a favor when they torched the metal," he said evenly.

She nodded and slid down on the bed so she could rest her cheek against his scarred thigh. The nearness of him and memories of the prior night stirred deep within Brennan. Last night, she had kissed the scar he earned protecting her from Pam Nunan. This morning, she kissed the scar he received when she was late coming to his rescue. She wanted to find a way to heal over all his scars, but most especially the ones she felt responsible for causing.

Booth, however, was lost in sensation. Her hair cascaded over his leg, and her warm breath between kisses was maddening. He ran his fingers through her hair and leaned back against the pillows, more than happy to let her lead their lovemaking this morning.

After a pleasantly lascivious morning, Booth and Brennan emerged from his bedroom relaxed and refreshed. Booth headed down the hall to check on Parker, and Brennan went to the kitchen to make coffee. She considered the case files scattered across the couch where they had been abandoned the night before with a twinge of regret, but quickly shook off the feeling. There would be ample time to finish reviewing the files later today.

Brennan heard peals of laughter from Parker while she rummaged through the kitchen until she found the coffee tucked in the freezer. "_I could get used to this,_" she thought.

****

_A Home Office in Fairfax, VA_

The large, dimly lit office seemed to dwarf the presence of the man who occupied it. The wood paneled walls blended seamlessly with numerous bookshelves. In stark contrast to the warm wood tones, several mounted heads were carefully placed in positions of preeminence around the room—elk, bear, and deer. He was seated behind a large mahogany desk, a phone to his ear. The windows behind him were covered with heavy drapes drawn closed against the cold morning brightness. The filtered beams swirled with dust moats and cigar smoke.

"I don't care why he wasn't found until Friday." He listened to the caller on the other end of the line and rolled his cigar in a green veined marble ashtray. "Don't give me any bull about the weather or fool's gold. Your little game may very well come at a higher cost than you're willing to pay. Get them out of the country. Yesterday. They should have been gone weeks ago."

The voice on the other end of the phone climbed an octave, causing him to hold the phone away from his ear. When the caller took a breath, he returned the phone to his ear and said, "You're starting to make me regret my choice. But because I'm so generous, I'm going to share some information that may impress upon you the seriousness of the situation," he said pausing to puff on the thick cigar. "The Bureau has assigned your little gambit to S.A. Booth, which means…." The caller interrupted him once again, and he quickly pulled the phone away from his ear.

"Well, what do you know? You aren't a complete idiot after all. Now here's a bit of advice. You'd better pray you didn't leave a scrap of evidence behind. Because if you did, I'm not going to run interference for you. You wanted this job. Earn it." He listened again and said sternly, "Don't test me, son. I promise you, you don't want me against you. The last man who faced off against me is sitting in a federal prison. Don't think you aren't just as expendable." He disconnected the line and replaced the handset in a cradle on the credenza beside his desk. To himself, he said with a shake of his head, "They always get greedy."

He sat in silence for a long while and then picked up a cell phone from his desk. He selected a name from his address book, pressed send, and waited for an answer. "Sweet pea, are you ready for church?" His voice softened from the stern tone he used with his previous caller into a faint southern drawl. He paused for a response. "Okay, darlin'. You come get me when you're ready. I'm in the office." He paused again before saying, "Sure thing, sugar. I've got plenty to do." He pressed end on his phone, pocketed it, and turned his attention to a report on his desk. He opened a pressboard file folder embossed with a navy blue seal and gold lettering on its front that read: "_OFFICE OF THE DIRECTOR OF NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE ◊ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA._"


	37. A Day of Rest?

37 A Day of Rest?

_Seeley Booth's Apartment_

Brennan poured two cups of freshly brewed coffee while she listened to Parker's laughter turn into shrieks. _"Good grief, what are they doing?"_ she wondered. She knew Booth would never hurt Parker, but she was certainly curious as to what could cause the child to shriek like that. She grabbed her coffee and peered around the corner to see for herself. She leaned against the wall separating the kitchen from the living room while sipping her coffee to watch Booth, who was hunched over the side chair, mercilessly tickling his son, whom he had pinned against the cushions. When Parker could barely catch his breath between shrill outcries of "Dad!" Booth relented and let the boy up for air. Parker sat up giggling in between gasping breaths.

Booth grabbed Parker by the waist, flipped him upside down and stood up straight, swinging him back and forth in front of him. Parker squealed again.

"Okay little man, up you come," Booth said. "Ready?"

"Yep" Parker replied. Brennan could see his face turning read from being swung around upside down.

Booth started counting and swinging Parker forward a bit with each count, "1, 2, 3!" On three, Parker tucked his head and Booth swung him forward and tossed him into the chair. Parker rolled with the motion and landed neatly, sitting in the overstuffed chair, his feet dangling over the edge.

Parker started clapping and jumped up. "Thanks, Dad!"

"You're going to be too big for that pretty soon, you know," Booth said.

"But not this week!" Parker exclaimed.

"Morning, Dr. Bones! Did you have a fun sleepover?" Parker didn't wait for a response, which was likely a good thing, since Brennan wasn't quite sure of the best way to answer that question. "My friend Brian spent the night last weekend when I was at Mom's, and we had a lot of fun!"

Booth interrupted Parker's story to correct him, "You mean your _cousin_ Brian, don't you?"

"Yea! But he's my friend," Parker said nodding; clearly indicating he thought the friendship was far more important than fuzzy familial ties. "We played football out back until dark, and then we got to watch football all night!" Parker exclaimed.

Booth smiled and explained for Brennan, "Rebecca's sister was in town for Thanksgiving. She told me they had a big time." His smile fell a bit when he looked back down at Parker and tousled his hair. "What do you think about making Bones some pancakes, bud?"

"Turkey pancakes?" Parker asked expectantly.

"Sure thing," he agreed, his smile returning somewhat.

Booth glanced towards Brennan when she asked hesitantly, "What are turkey pancakes?"

Parker held up his hands and wiggled them for her, while Booth explained. "Parker's school had a fundraiser this year, selling cookie dough and cookie cutters. He wanted the ones shaped like hands. We use them for pancakes mostly. When he drizzles on the syrup," Booth shrugged his shoulders and gave her a goofy grin, "it sorta looks like a turkey."

"They're the yummiest!" Parker declared as ran past Brennan into the kitchen.

"How does their shape make them taste better?" she asked Parker as he dashed around her.

"Slow down, Parker," Booth chided.

The boy slowed and said, "Just does, Dr. Bones." She smirked with one eyebrow raised, but let the subject go.

"There's a cup of coffee in here with your name on it, Booth," she said.

"Oh, good. I guess you found everything okay," he said, and she nodded in reply. He draped an arm around her shoulder and they turned into the kitchen together. Booth squinted at the coffee cup on the counter and then down at Brennan. "You meant literally."

She nodded again and kissed his cheek.

Booth picked up the mug that proclaimed SPECIAL AGENT SEELEY BOOTH in bold letters. "You know, I've had this mug for years. I've never used it before."

"Why ever not?" she asked. "I'm surprised you don't keep it at work." She was honestly surprised. Booth remained an enigma to her. Shy and reserved when she thought he had reason to boast, but cocky and self-assured when others would take a conservative approach.

He shook his head and said, "Nah," then took a sip of his coffee. "It was a gag gift from Jared my first year with the Bureau." Booth put his coffee back on the counter and clapped his hands together. "So, pancakes?"

***

_Swerling Home, Alexandria, VA_

Nadine Swerling sat in the toasty warm kitchen of her house on the outskirts of Alexandria, Virginia. After twenty years of scrimping and saving, finances were finally looking up. Her husband, Mack, finally received the promotion he had been working towards. Life should be good. But now that he had the job, Nadine wasn't sure it was worth the cost it was taking on their family. Mack was surly and irritable, working long days and sometimes weekends, had no time for the kids, and more importantly, no time for her.

At forty-two, the mother of three teenagers still considered herself attractive. She maintained a slim figure without too much effort, her skin was clear, and she had no major health problems. The only vanity she allowed herself was a monthly visit to the hairdresser's to cover the gray that was beginning to pepper her strawberry blond hair.

Life was supposed to be getting easier and more comfortable. Instead, her husband had become drastically more private. He was always a secretive man, but until recently, Nadine always found the mystery added a little spice to their relationship. Now, the only spice between them was in the homemade salsa she made every week. She heard Mack's raised voice coming from down the hall. _"On the phone again, no doubt,"_ she thought. Nadine took a swallow of bitter black coffee. The steaming liquid fit her mood, and she stared blankly out over the snow-covered yard.

Mack hurried through the kitchen, grabbed a banana, and said, "Gotta go, babe. There's an emergency down at the airfield that I have to take care of personally."

"What's new?" Nadine said bitterly.

"Tell me about it," he said, missing her sarcasm, as he breezed out the door.

***

_Ft. Belvoir, Davidson Army Airfield_

Staff Sergeant Mack Swerling ended a call on his cell phone after advising Corporal Delaney of the unscheduled flight. This special trip was going to cost him his entire Sunday, but he didn't see a way around it. The passengers had to get off the ground today, which meant Mack had to practice his juggling act, again. Arranging for the drop-off, transfer, and transport for four to Mexico City was going to be a nightmare. Flight plans had to be filed, crews had to be called in, and a plane had to be flight checked and readied. But, orders were orders. He would make sure they were carried out.

***

_Outside of Seeley Booth's Apartment_

He watched. Down the alleyway, a tall dark-haired man buckled a tow-headed child into the back seat of a black SUV. He checked his watch and glanced at a photograph on the seat beside him. He grabbed the photo, holding it up so he could compare the man in the distance with the face on the photgraph. He nodded, turned the photo over and placed it on the dashboard. Reaching under his jacket to check the safety on his gun in the shoulder holster, he watched the SUV depart. Satisfied they were gone for the time being, he exited his car, locked it, and walked towards the apartment entrance.

***

_Seeley Booth's Apartment_

Booth and Parker left for church around quarter past eleven. Brennan stayed behind, intending to read through more transcripts. She sat down on the couch to resume where she left off the night before. With the folder open before her, the silence in the apartment was a comfortable companion after spending time with Booth and Parker. She had wanted this, but everything had changed so quickly. Being alone, she realized she didn't want to sacrifice her moments of privacy. She knew would always need quiet times like this to work and simply be alone with her thoughts. And yet, it was rather depressing to imagine waking up alone in her own apartment tomorrow morning. She and Booth needed to talk about the immediate future, but that would have to wait until later. Now there were transcripts to review and a killer to track down.

Brennan turned on the stereo, but couldn't find a station that was playing what she wanted to hear. Instead, she toggled the stereo to play a CD, and browsed Booth's CD collection in silence.

She was pleasantly surprised to find Foreigner's "Double Vision" album. She turned the case over in her hands and her eyes ran down the song list printed on the back. _Hot Blooded_ was number one on the track list. As she opened the CD case she heard a creaking of floorboards near the front door. Thinking Booth had forgotten something, she put the CD on top of the stereo, turned and walked towards the door to meet him. The door nob jiggled but didn't open, and she heard a scraping noise, but no jingling of keys. Her senses now on alert, she scanned the apartment and quickly retreated to Booth's bedroom. Just as she closed the bedroom door, she heard the front door open.


	38. Decisions

38 Decisions

_Seeley Booth's Apartment_

The tumblers of the lock finally gave way with a barely audible "click." He pushed the door open quickly, stepped inside and closed it behind him. The air was heavy with the scent of maple syrup. He smiled, but then shook his head and re-focused on his work.

He glanced into the kitchen, scanning quickly for any indication that a great deal of time was spent there. The kitchen was tidy, no dirty dishes on the counter or in the sink, but the coffee pot light glowed with a dim green light, and the carafe was half-full. He walked over and held his hand out towards the pot, still warm. His left eye began to twitch. He knew there should be no one else in the apartment, so he was puzzled to find the coffee pot switched on. Perhaps the resident had forgotten to switch it off. But, bad intelligence was the only reason to assume no one else was in the apartment. Maybe a girlfriend, maybe a nanny. It didn't matter who; what mattered was that he needed to proceed as if someone was still in the apartment.

He walked carefully and quietly through the living area, taking note of the files scattered on the couch and the laptop on the table beside it, along with a half-filled mug of coffee and a cell phone. He held his hand over the cup and felt the warmth rising from it. He turned to survey the rest of the apartment visible from the living room. The stereo was on, but silent. The hallway dark. Whomever was here was in the back.

He needed to make a decision. He could probably accomplish his primary mission if he acted quickly; he could turn and leave before being discovered; or he could neutralize the threat and take his time before needing to depart before the resident returned. His engagement orders did not cover this specific situation, but undetected was a high priority secondary objective. The problem was, whomever was in the apartment probably knew he was here. It was a risk he would have to take. Accomplish the primary objective. He searched the living room for a suitable place, glancing towards the hallway once in a while. A fireplace nick-knack would do. He selected a trophy resting on the mantle.

***

Brennan's heart was racing. She could barely hear the intruder over the thundering of her pulse. Since the intruder was not racing to search the rooms, she deduced he must believe the apartment empty. She also felt that misconception would not last long since she left the stereo on and her coffee sitting beside the couch.

Booth had worn his shoulder harness with his .38 when he left with Parker. She remembered asking him about it a mere half hour earlier. "I never know when I'll get a call, Bones. I feel better carrying all the time," he had said. Gathering her wits, she she took a silent breath and tried to determine where Booth might keep his extra pistol. Closet, bedside table, or a gun safe. Those were the only logical places she would use. She kept hers in her bedroom closet when she didn't have it in her purse. Hopefully, Booth would be as logical.

Booth had left the closet doors open after he dressed for church. She looked on the shelf above the hanging racks but didn't see a container large enough for the gun, just folded linens and pillows. On the floor of the closet were gym bags and sports paraphernalia. The only likely gun storage on the floor the closet was a fire safe, which was locked. "Not the closet; or if it is, it's of no use," she thought."

Moving to the bedside table, she slid open the drawers as quietly as she could. She had to repress a triumphant shout when she spotted a gun case in the bottom drawer along with boxes of ammunition. Her elation turned to defeat when she carefully lifted the .22 and saw a trigger lock securing the gun. She sighed silently. It was a premium lock; even if she knew the trick for removing it, she would need a key. Conflicting waves of frustration at being denied a gun— again—and pride at his concern for safety raged through her mind.

She put the .22 back in its drawer and pondered her options. She could wait for the intruder to leave, find something she could use as a weapon, or confront him unarmed. Her mind raced through the objects she had seen in the room, and she recalled the contents of the closet. Among the sporting paraphernalia were a snowboard and a hockey stick.

She tiptoed to the closet to retrieve the hockey stick and then to the bedroom door. She listened, but heard nothing. She was unable to determine how long the intruder had been in the apartment. She had been moving as slowly as she dared for fear of making noise, yet it seemed as if only moments had passed since she darted into the bedroom. Very slowly, Brennan opened the door and moved into the darkened hallway, taking care not to bump anything with the hockey stick, which she brandished like a quarterstaff.

Brennan peered around the corner holding her breath and saw a slim man with his back to her. He removed a trophy from the mantle, then reached into his coat pocket and removed something too small for her to identify. She realized that right now, while the man was preoccupied, would be her best chance to take him by surprise. She hoped to knock him unconscious, but at the very least, she should be able to gain the advantage.

Moving swiftly, she stepped into the room and punched forward with her right hand, driving the handle of the hockey stick at the man's head. An intake of breath or a sense of movement must have alerted him, and he turned towards her, into the blow. He began to raise an arm in an attempt to block, but her aim carried the stick over his weak parry, slicing open a gash on his forehead. He dropped the trophy and stumbled backwards, one hand covering his wound, the other reaching into his jacket. Brennan followed through on the strike, rotating the blade end of the stick up and over, catching him on the back of the head. As if in slow motion, Brennan saw the man draw a pistol from his jacket. A sense of clarity overcame her, and using the blade like a hook, she yanked it towards her, pulling the intruder face forward on the floor, sending the pistol skittering across the floor, until it bumped against the wall behind him.

She had no time to celebrate, as the man clambered to his knees and dove for the gun. She rotated the stick again, bringing the mid-section to bear and charged his back as he dove, striking him soundly across the back, pinning him beneath her and the stick, inches shy of the gun. Brennan drove two quick knees to his right kidney. He writhed on the floor in pain, giving her the opening she needed to reach the gun. Using the hockey stick for leverage, she sprang forward over her downed foe, grabbed the gun, and turned to level the gun at him. He was still on the floor, but was rising once again to his knees.

"No further than your knees; hands behind your head," Brennan barked. He glanced at her and around the room briefly before complying with her order by lacing his fingers behind his neck. "Cross your ankles," Brennan ordered. He complied again. "Don't move," she said as she backed out of his line of sight and picked up her cell phone. Her first call was to Booth, voice mail. "Booth, I have an intruder on his knees and a gun leveled at his head at your place. Your living room is a crime scene. I'm calling 911 now. You can sort out jurisdiction later." She disconnected the line and dialed 911.


	39. A Babysitter

39 A Babysitter

_Saint Patrick Catholic Church, Washington DC_

Shortly after Booth and Parker took their seats in church, Booth's cell phone began to vibrate. He opened it to check the caller ID. Rebecca.

"Park, it's Mom. Let's go back out to the narthex and take the call," Booth whispered to Parker who nodded, then answered his phone. "Booth," he said quietly into the phone. He stood and led Parker back down the aisle. "Hey, Rebecca. Give me a second, we just took our seats in church." He paused while she spoke. "No, it's fine. He wants to talk to you." Once in the narthex, Booth said, "Hold on, here's Parker," then handed the phone to his son.

"Hi, Mom. How's Grandma?" Booth watched his son's face while he talked with his mother. Booth knew he was biased, but he was still convinced Parker was one of the cutest kids he'd ever seen. He got the best of both his parents. Rebecca's hair and skin tone, Booth's jaw and eyes. Booth recalled pictures of himself as a child, hair just as unruly.

Music filtered to them from the choir, indicating the service had begun. Normally, Booth would have made Parker hang up by now, but today was different, in many ways. Not the least of which being, Parker deserved a chance to talk with his mother and find out about his grandmother. Booth took a seat on a padded bench while Parker continued his animated conversation with Rebecca. He couldn't determine exactly how Marge was doing from Parker's side of the conversation, but at least Parker didn't seem upset.

Booth found himself studying Parker's features again, this time wondering what he might have looked like if Brennan were his mother. His thoughts quickly turned to what a pregnant Brennan might be like. A shiver passed through his body, feeling like a combination of anticipation and hesitation. At that thought, a half smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Parker interrupted his thought process a short time later, holding out the phone. "Mom wants to talk to you again."

"Thanks, Parker," he said to his son, and then to Rebecca he asked, "So, do you want me to bring Parker home tonight, or should I make arrangements to keep him this week?" They spent a few minutes working out Parker's immediate residency plans, during which Booth learned that Marge was now stable, but would be in the hospital until at least Thursday following a triple by-pass surgery scheduled for the following morning. Parker sat down on the bench beside Booth and swung his feet absently while he waited.

When Booth hung up, he said to Parker, "Looks like you're roughing it with me this week, kiddo."

"Yea, Mom told me. But she said Grandma would be okay and I could see her today before she has her surgrie t'morrow," Parker said.

"Yep. I'm going to call..." Booth was interrupted by a beeping from his phone. A puzzled look crossed his face briefly, as he he pulled the phone back out and looked at the screen. "Voice mail. I wonder who would have called while we were on the phone with your Mom? Hold that thought, Park," he said, pressing the button to access his message. Booth's eyes grew wide and then narrowed sharply as he listened, scruffing a hand through his hair. He bit his bottom lip and glanced at Parker.

"Buddy, I'm sorry, but we're not going to catch any of the Mass today. We've got to get going. Put your coat back on," Booth said in a tight voice as he browsed his phone's contact list. He highlighted the name Brennan, M., and pressed send.

Max Brennan answered the phone with a concerned tone, "This is a surprise, Booth. Is everything okay?"

"I hope so, Max. I need big favor. I have Parker with me over at St. Patrick's, but Bones is, …, um, …," Booth stammered, then finally spit out, " Look, Bones caught someone breaking into my apartment while Parker and I were at church. She's got him restrained now and has called the cops. She sounded fine on her message, but I've got to get over there, and I don't want to take Parker home to a crime scene," Booth said in a rush.

"Okay. You want me to take Parker this afternoon?" Max asked calmly.

"I do, and I'm getting to that, but there's more. Parker's grandmother, Marge Stinson, had a heart attack Friday, and she's having bypass surgery in the morning. Would you mind looking after Parker for me this afternoon, and if it's not too much trouble, take him by the hospital—Washington Hospital Center—to see Marge, while Bones and I sort out what's going on at home?

Max was silent for a moment, before saying, "Yea, I can do that. If you're still staying above that liquor store, I can meet you at your place in 20 minutes."

"That's the place. Thanks, Max. We're heading out now. Marge is in the cardiac unit, but I don't have the room number."

"It's okay, son. Don't worry about it. I'm sure we'll find her. You and Tempe take care of what you need to do," Max said.

"Thanks," Booth replied as he grabbed Parker's hand, stood up, and headed for the door.

"Oh, Booth? Just what _is_ my daughter doing at your place on a Sunday morning without you there?" Max paused, and so did Booth. Max finally broke the silence and said, "You know, maybe you shouldn't answer that right now," Max said, "Just take care of my little girl."

Booth said seriously, "I always will."

"See you in a few," Max said.

Booth hung up the phone and led Parker to the car. "Did you catch that, Parker? Mr. Brennan is going to take you over to see Grandma this afternoon since Bones caught a bad guy at home."

"What was a bad guy doing at our house, Dad?" Parker asked.

"Not sure yet, but we're going home now so I can find out. Mr. Brennan will meet us there," Booth told him.

"If Mr. Brennan is Dr. Bones' dad," Parker said, and Booth nodded, "He said I could call him Max."

"Okay, buddy. But you behave yourself with Max today, okay?"

"Sure, Dad. Max is pretty cool," Parker said with a little bob of his head as he buckled his seatbelt.


	40. Discretion

40 Discretion

_Seeley Booth's Apartment, Outside_

Booth pulled through the alley behind the liquor store and into his parking spot behind the building. He had seen a distinctive red, white, and blue DC Metro squad car out front as he drove by, and noticed Max was parked at a meter across the street. He had nodded to Max and then driven down the alley. Max followed, and was now double parked behind him.

The men met and shook hands behind Booth's car. Booth clapped Max on the shoulder and said, "Thanks for coming, Max. I don't know what I would have done if you were in Carolina."

"Don't worry about it. I'm here, Parker will be fine. I didn't go in, by the way. I'd only just gotten here myself when you pulled up," Max said.

Parker joined them behind the car and said, "Hiya, Max!"

"Hey there Parker. Good to see you again, pal. You know, I was real sorry to hear about your Grandma," Max said sincerely. "What do you say we grab something to eat," he spared Booth a glance who gave him a grateful nod, "and then head over to the hospital. You can introduce me to your Mom, and then you can spend some time with them."

"Okay, Max. Thank you for taking me while Daddy catches bad guys," Parker said.

Booth knelt down to hug Parker. He squeezed his shoulder when he stood back up and said, "Behave yourself, little man, and say hi to your Mom for me."

"I will, Dad." Then Parker reached up and grabbed Max's hand and started for Max's car.

"Hold on a second, Parker," Max said in mid-stride. He turned back towards Booth and asked, "Booth, do you remember our little talk after Tempe fired me?"

Booth cocked his head to the side and said cautiously, "Yea, of course. I remember."

"I meant what I said, son. I want her to be happy, and I know you do too. The rest is really none of my business," Max said.

Booth relaxed a bit and offered Max his hand. They shook again, and Booth said, "Max, I, …," Booth glanced at Parker, then back at Max.

Max nodded, "I know you love her, Booth. But, I'm not the one that matters. Does she know?" he asked.

"Yea, she knows," Booth admitted.

Max's eyebrows rose as a smile started at the corners of his mouth, quickly spreading to transform his face. When it reached is eyes, they twinkled, not unlike Brennan's. Max looked down at Parker and said, "Come on, Parker, I'm hungry." He patted the boy's shoulder, winked at Booth, and turned for his car.

"Bye, Dad!" Parker said, waving.

Booth waved and watched as Max turned his car around and headed back down the alley. He remained there in the cold parking lot until Max's car disappeared around the corner.

_Seeley Booth's Apartment, Inside_

"I really don't think that's necessary," Brennan said indignantly to an overweight, red-nosed uniformed officer, her hands propped on her hips. "I am not going down to your station house to give a report until Booth returns."

"Ma'am, I need to secure the apartment," the red-nosed officer said.

"What you really need to do is stop consuming so much alcohol," Brennan retorted gesturing at his face, "it makes the capillaries swell, causing the redness. And you should lose some weight," she said, dropping her hand, "But I doubt you're going to do either right now, are you? Well, I may _need_ to go with you to give a statement, but I'm _not_ leaving until Booth gets here!"

"Bones! What's going on?" Booth asked in a raised voice from the front door, flashing his federal ID and pushing past another uniform standing near the doorway.

"Booth! Thank goodness you're here." Brennan took two steps towards him and he enfold her in his arms, gently stroking her hair.

"Hey, calm down. We'll get this sorted out," Booth said squeezing to her shoulders.

"And you are?" the red-nosed officer asked Booth.

Booth released Brennan and raised his badge again, "Special Agent Seeley Booth with the FBI. This is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan, and this is my apartment. Where's the intruder?"

"Ah, sir, we really need to get Ms. Brennan's statement down at the station house," the officer began.

"That's Dr. Brennan to you, and no, you don't," Booth said flatly. This is a federal matter boys, and I'm taking over jurisdiction. Just tell me where my suspect is, and I'll have the FBI forensics team in here to secure the scene."

"Sir, with all due respect, a B&E doesn't exactly qualify as a federal matter," red-nose said.

Booth jutted his chin forward and squinted at the pudgy man. "Officer ... Jackson," Booth said, spotting his name on his uniform, "my partner and I have been working on a federal case that could have become compromised by the intruder. That makes it federal jurisdiction until I decide otherwise. I'll let you know," Booth said, his voice turning sarcastic at the end.

"Fine. The paperwork will be on your desk on Monday morning, _Agent_ Booth," Jackson retorted and lumbered towards the door.

"Hey, where's my suspect?" Booth called after him.

"In the squad car," Jackson called over his shoulder.

"Perfect. G'ahead and take him to lock up. I'll send a Marshall over to pick him up," Booth said, pleased with himself.

"Gee, Agent Booth, we wouldn't want to step on any FBI toes. Maybe you should just come get him, and we'll get out of your … jurisdiction," Jackson's partner said.

Booth frowned and spread his hands wide. "You don't want to screw around with me, guys. Besides, I don't drive a transport vehicle, or I would." Booth tucked his thumbs in his belt, and said, "Let's just say, the FBI would greatly appreciate a little professional cooperation at this juncture."

"Whatever," Jackson said. Let's just haul the suspect in, Mike. Let the feds sort it out later."

"Much obliged, fellas," Booth called after the officers who were now retreating down the hallway. Booth shut the door, locked it, and secured the dead-bolt, before turning back to Brennan. She still stood where he had left her, at the end of the hall were it opened into the living room. Her arms were crossed, as if she were hugging herself. He could see from her expression that a conflict was raging within her. "Do you want to talk about it yet?" he asked.

"Idiot!" she said moving toward the couch, her frustration evident in the way she slung her arms to her sides and flopped on the cushions. Booth, who had been following her to the couch, stopped and stared at her, pointing to himself.

"No, not you," she said. Booth closed the distance to the couch, hitched up his trousers, and sat down beside her. "I'm just irritated with that alcoholic cop, Jackson. He was treating me like I had no business being here. I half expected him to arrest me!"

"I'm sure they were just trying to do their job, Bones," he began.

"Well they weren't doing it very well!" she spat. "And you, I found your .22, but it had a … child lock on it! I had to subdue him with a hockey stick!"

Booth grinned. "I wish I could have seen that."

Brennan shoved his shoulder with hers and said, "I could reenact it if you want, but you probably wouldn't enjoy ending up face down after being hooked to the floor." The tension in her voice was fading, and she was beginning to relax.

"How about you give me a verbal account?" he asked, squeezing her knee gently.

She sighed and leaned her shoulder against his while she explained the events that transpired after he left the apartment. When she finished, she turned her crystal blue eyes on him and waited.

Booth took her hands in his and said, "You did great, Bones. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."

"Booth, that's not logical. He must have waited for you to leave the apartment. If you had stayed, he never would have entered," she explained.

Booth shook his head with amusement and exhaled sharply. "You're right," he said, eyes twinkling. "Logically. That doesn't change how I feel about the situation. Anyway, I need to call this in and make arrangements to have the guy released to federal custody."

Brennan looked around the apartment then with a furrowed brow. "Booth, where's Parker?"

"Right, I was going to tell you about that. You see, ah, he's with Max," Booth said, pausing his fingers over his phone's keypad.

"My Dad?" she asked incredulously.

"The one and only," Booth said. "I called Max after I got your message and asked him to look after Parker this afternoon."

"Oh." she said, crossing her legs and propping her chin on her hand.

"He was my best option on short notice, especially since I didn't want to explain what you were doing here this morning without talking with you first," he said.

"Right, my Dad is the epitome of discretion," she said sarcastically.

"In this case, he is. He knows how to keep quiet and protect his family-you," he said gently.

"But Dad knows now,right?" she asked, turning to face him.

"Initially, he asked why you were here, but changed his mind. Said it was none of his business. He's not going to embarrass you or pressure you, and neither am I," he said. "But, yea. He knows."

Brennan sighed and dropped her head, rubbing her neck. Seeing her actions, Booth replaced her hands with his, gently kneading the taut muscles.

"This break-in _is_ going to force us to explain our relationship a little sooner than we might have preferred. Cam's gonna get a copy of this report, and any physical evidence we find here will be going to the lab," he said while he continued to rub her neck.

"I'm aware of our investigative protocols, Booth," Brennan said through a curtain of dangling hair.

"I'm really not concerned about our relationship becoming common knowledge, in and of itself. Angela is the only one who will question me about you, which is not new. She has been doing it since our first case. She calls you my personal 'knight in standard FBI issue armor.' Trust me, she'll be thrilled. What I am concerned with is the distraction factor. What effect will revealing our personal relationship have on the team? We're going to need them focused on the case, not us."

Booth released her neck and she sat up straighter, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Try not to worry about that too much," he said. "I think we can work something out." Booth gave her an impish grin and said, "She calls me a knight?"

"Yes," Brennan answered, rolling her eyes. "Focus please? How do we keep their attention on the case when ___we_ can barely focus on it?"

Booth leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, "We just have to make it worth their while. So, you find me distracting, Bones?" Booth's breath was warm against her skin, and she shivered.

"Yes," she said simply, closing her eyes, leaning into him.

Booth allowed himself a moment of indulgence, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and holding her close. "Same here," he said kissing the top of her head. "Which is why you're going to sit up in just a minute, and we're going to process this crime scene." Booth re-keyed the number he had been about to dial and said, "The sooner we finish this," he said holding up his cell phone and pressing send, "the sooner we can get back to _this_," he said, as he lowered his lips to hers.


	41. Names & Prints

41 Names and Prints

Their kiss was short-lived. Booth's call was answered almost before it began. He was instantly all business, requesting a forensic team and the witness transfer. While they waited, he suggested they walk the apartment to see if anything had been disturbed. They walked through the kitchen slowly, finding nothing. Although Booth pointed out that the coffee pot was still on. "He might have thought I left it on by mistake, Booth said.

Brennan nodded, hand on her hip. "That's possible. He didn't come searching for me. So, I don't think he knew I was here. Although, he should have when he reached the couch. I left my cell on the table beside my coffee," she said, walking around the corner towards the living room.

"For all he knew, it was mine," Booth posited as he followed her. I didn't use my cell phone outside before Parker and I left.

"When I was peering around the corner, right before I hit him, he grabbed that trophy off the mantle," she said pointing to the toppled memento on the floor near the hearth. "I saw him take something out of his pocket. But, I didn't get a good look at it. I'm certain, but I think he stuck whatever it was to the base of the trophy."

Booth squatted down for a better look at his Law Enforcement Hockey League trophy from last season. "I'm not sure I see anything. Do you have any gloves with you?"

She shook her head slowly, "No," then snapped her fingers. "In my car. I'll be right back." Brennan disappeared briefly in to the bedroom and emerged with her purse and jacket.

Booth called to her, "Wait, I'll walk out with you, Bones." He leaned a hand against the fireplace for support and stood up.

Brennan whirled to face him as she shrugged on her jacket. "My ankle feels much better, you don't need to walk me out."

Booth turned on the charm and grinned at her as he closed the distance between them.

"You do realize that just because we're sleeping together, doesn't mean I'm any less capable of walking to my car by myself, don't you?" she asked as he put an arm around her shoulder.

Booth winced and raised a finger to her lips in a silencing gesture. "Shh, don't say it like that," he said, ushering her through the door. "Of course, I know you can take care of yourself. But I'd have walked you to your car anyway. It's got nothing to do with us being lovers now," he said as he locked and closed the door carefully with his jacket, to preserve any prints on the knob. They linked arms and walked down the hallway.

"Is that how you see us, lovers?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he said emphatically. "Why, don't you?"

"I'm not sure. Lovers seems like such a carefree, romantic term," she said.

"Well, what do you want to call us? And keep in mind I probably won't like some scientific, clinical term," he said jokingly.

"What's wrong with continuing to use partners?" she asked. "I think it's a much more descriptive term, and it has the benefit of being applicable at work and at home. But, only those we choose to inform will know how deep our partnership truly runs."

Booth laughed as the exited the building, "Funny, Bones!" He smirked and said, "Let's try something." Then he pitched his voice low and asked seductively, "Would you rather me say 'hello, parter,'" he paused to let his words have an effect, his lips brushing her hair, "or 'hello, lover?'"

Brennan felt a warmth spread throughout her lower abdomen and her knees weaken when he said 'hello, lover.' He noticed her involuntarily shiver but said nothing. "Lover works," she finally said. Booth hugged her to him with a satisfied grin on his face as they approached her car.

Brennan rummaged through a small satchel in the truck. Beneath a pair of coveralls and a change of clothes were evidence bags and a box of latex gloves. She plucked a couple of gloves from the box and grabbed some evidence bags, which she handed to Booth to hold while she repacked the satchel and closed the trunk.

"Always ready for anything, aren't you, Bones?" Booth asked.

Brennan replied with a grin. "It's much more efficient to try and anticipate commonly needed items."

While they walked back to the apartment, he asked, "How small was it? The thing he stuck to the trophy."

"I really can't qualify it, Booth. I wasn't close enough to make an accurate assessment," she replied.

"Work with me, Bones. Smaller than a fingertip?" he asked.

"Generally, yes. He held it between the thumb and forefinger of is right hand, and I couldn't see what it was. Smaller than a finger tip seems reasonable," she said.

"I don't like the sound of that," Booth said. "We'll know more when I can see it, but he might have been planting a bug."

Brennan looked at him blankly for a moment. Comprehension then crossed her face. "You mean a small listening device."

"Yep, and if he did, whoever he's working for may have heard everything that was said in the living room since he entered."

Brennan's brow furrowed in thought. "Ange. If that's what it is, we should call Angela. She can tell us how strong the signal is, perhaps find the receiver."

"All right. Don't say anything more about the case once we're inside," Booth said, while unlocking the door. "We'll have a look, and if it might be a bug, we'll get Angela over here."

Brennan nodded and slipped on her gloves, "Let's go then." She grasped the doorknob gently and opened the door.

In silence they crossed the apartment to the fallen trophy. Brennan knelt beside it and picked it up. She turned it over in her hands, looking for anything that didn't belong. Booth knelt in front of her. He saw it before she did. He touched her arm and pointed at the small object adhered to the base of the trophy, on the back side.

A loud knock at the door startled them. Brennan stowed the trophy in an evidence bag and Booth answered the door. He admitted the forensic crime scene team with a whispered, "Keep it down." Booth quickly jotted a note informing them of the presence of a possible bug while they set up their kit. They nodded their understanding and continued to work in silence. They dusted the door, the trophy, and the bug for prints, and lifted several, including a partial from the bug. When they finished their work, they motioned for Booth to join them outside the apartment, Brennan joined them.

"Okay, we'll run these and see what we come up with, Agent Booth," one of the techs said.

"Thanks, guys," Booth said.

"No problem. Your prints will be on file, but we may need to get samples from you, ma'am," a tech said to Brennan.

"My prints should also be available. I'm Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian, and FBI contractor."

"That should make it easier. What are you doing about the bug though?" the tech asked Booth.

"I'm calling an expert over to have a look, then hopefully we can get it out of here," Booth said. "And, you'll be able to get prints on the suspect. He's in local custody right now, but a Marshall should be transferring him to federal custody this afternoon."

"That's all we need then," he informed them. "Take care," the tech partners chimed as they left Booth and Brennan standing in the hallway.

"You ready for this, Bones?" Booth asked her.

"For what?" she asked.

"Angela," he said seriously.

Brennan's eyes grew wide as she looked up at him. "As ready as I'll ever be, I guess. Call her."


	42. Confrontation

42 Confrontation

_Washington Hospital Center_

The lobby doors swished open before them as the entered the bustling hospital. A blast of warm air met them as they crossed the portal into the lobby. The reception area was busy and the gift shop down the hall had a steady stream of customers. Max and Parker waited their turn and were directed to the cardiac care unit. They navigated the hospital's interior and arrived at a small station near a cardiac waiting room. Max inquired of the woman behind the desk, "Excuse me. Can you tell me what room Marge Stinson is in? I have her grandson here to visit."

"Are you Mr. Booth?" the woman asked.

"No, the name is Brennan. Max Brennan," Max said extending his hand to her, which she shook. "Seeley Booth is this young man's father though. He had an emergency at work, so I offered to bring Parker by to see his grandmother."

"Oh, very well. It's just around the corner. Room 418. Your mother's been waiting for you, young man," she said to Parker.

"Thank you," Max and Parker said simultaneously. Parker pulled ahead of Max and they walked down the hallway, looking at room numbers as they rounded a corner. Parker stopped three-quarters of the way down the hall and turned back toward Max. "I found it!" he called.

Max chuckled and raised a finger to his lips, attempting to hush Parker. The door opened to reveal a buxom blond woman whose hair was pulled into a ponytail. Parker threw himself at her, hugging her legs. "Hi Mom!"

"Hey, baby. Where's your Dad?" she asked looking up and down the hall.

"He had to work, but Max brought me!" Parker said, pointing to Max.

Max could see frustration and anger building in the young woman's expression as she turned to follow Parker's gesture. He picked up the pace and introduced himself. "G'dafternoon. Max Brennan. Tempe's father. She and Booth had a bit of trouble to deal with this afternoon. And, since Parker and I are old friends from the Jeffersonian, I offered to bring him by to visit so your plans wouldn't be interrupted. I hope you don't mind."

Rebecca's eyes narrowed as she gave Max scathing look. "Rebecca Stinson. So, you're Dr. Brennan's father?" she asked in hushed tones through clenched teeth. Her voice seethed with restrained frustration. Max nodded in response. "Where the hell is Seeley? This is inexcusable. No offense to you, Mr. Brennan, but if I can't," her voice trailed off and she looked down at her son momentarily. "If Parker can't count on Seeley," she said, meeting Max's eyes, "then I don't think . . .."

"Pardon me, Ms. Stinson. Could we speak in private?" Max made a small open handed gestured toward Parker. "And, perhaps let Parker go inside to visit?"

Rebecca closed her eyes for a moment, then knelt down in front of Parker. "Go on in and see Grandma. She's been looking forward to seeing you."

"Okay, Mom. But please don't be mad at Max and Daddy," Parker pleaded with her.

Rebecca kissed his cheek, then stood and opened the door for Parker. "Go on inside, son. I'll be back soon." Then she said into the room, "Drew, I'll be a few minutes."

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee or something," Max offered.

"No thank you," she replied shortly. They took a few steps down the hall, away from Marge Stinson's room. "There's a consultation room near the waiting room. If it's free, we'll talk there," she said, leading Max back towards the helpful cardiac receptionist. They were in luck. She flipped on the light and held the door for Max, who shut it behind him. "What is my son doing with a man who was on trial for murder?" Rebecca asked coldly.

"I _was_ acquitted of that charge, thank you." A silence hung in the air between them. "Look, I'm just a lucky man who's got a second chance to try to do right by his family, Ms. Stinson. I respect Booth, and I think Parker is a great kid. I work at the Jeffersonian now, which is how I know Parker. I teach kids, doing science experiments, that sort of thing."

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me. Parker has mentioned you. He enjoys your experiments," Rebecca said stiffly and nodded, indicating he should continue.

"I'll get to the point, Ms. Stinson. Booth isn't to blame here. His apartment was broken into while he and Parker were at church." Rebecca gasped. "They caught the guy," Max said, making a patting motion in the air between them, indicating she could relax. "But, Booth didn't want to bring Parker home to a crime scene. I'm sure you understand," Max explained.

For the first time since Max met her, Rebecca's expression softened. "Of course. Oh, God! I'm sorry," she said, he shoulders sagging as she leaned against a desk. "Thank God Parker wasn't there when it happened. Was anything taken?" she asked.

"I don't think so. Like I said, I believe they caught the guy." Max said "Beyond that, all I really know is that Booth called and asked if I could look after Parker this afternoon, make sure he got a chance to visit your mother. I guess I was the first person he thought of on short notice who might be free on a Sunday afternoon."

Rebecca looked defeated. "I'm sorry. It's been a stressful few days."

"I understand. And I won't take up anymore of your time. I'm sure you want to get back to your mother. I just wanted to introduce myself, and let you know that Booth wasn't ditching Parker. He loves that little boy, and he'd do anything for him." He paused momentarily, but she said nothing. "Look, I'll go grab a seat in the cardiac waiting room next door, so you and Parker can visit with your mother all you like. I don't have anywhere to be this afternoon."

"That's very generous of you, Mr. Brennan. Thank you," she said.

"Max, please," he said with a smile. "It's no trouble, really. Just let me know when Parker's ready to go. And, I'll make sure things are okay back at Booth's before I drop him off."

"I will, and thank you," Rebecca said.

"You're welcome. I hope your mother's surgery goes well tomorrow," Max said and extended his hand to Rebecca. She shook it warmly and offered him a small smile before leaving the consultation room.


	43. Alphabet Soup

43 Alphabet Soup

_Seeley Booth's Apartment_

Brennan brewed a fresh pot of coffee while Booth cleaned up the dust left by the fingerprinting team. By the time Brennan had poured two fresh cups, Booth was in the kitchen washing his hands. She slid a full cup across the counter to him as he dried his hands in silence. He took it with a grateful nod, joining her at the counter, sipping slowly. They drank their coffee without conversation, both lost in thought.

He placed his cup on the counter. Turning to face her, he searched her eyes, then relieved her of her own mug. Need no further invitation, Brennan leaned against him, her head against his shoulder, his arms around her back, hers about his waist. Together in his kitchen they stood, taking support and strength from each other. Eventually, he gave her a gentle squeeze and led her to the couch. There, they picked up the files they had been working on the night before, and snuggled together, they continued their work.

Booth had called Angela from the hallway before cleaning up, so she was aware of the need for near silence. They almost didn't hear her light rap at the door. Brennan glanced at him, and he could see the apprehension in her eyes. "Be right back," he said quietly.

Booth opened the door, revealing an arm-laden Angela. She held out a case, which he took from her. She then picked up another from the floor and came in. "Thanks, Booth," Angela said in hushed tones. She scanned the room, narrowed her eyes on Brennan, who was still sitting on the couch. Angela pointed at Brennan, then to herself and mouthed, "Later," as she set to work.

Booth watched for a few minutes as her hands flew across the keyboards, then realized there was no way he could help. He rejoined Brennan on the couch and picked up his files again. Two laptops and twenty minutes later, Angela tapped them both on the shoulder and pointed towards the door. They followed her to the hallway expectantly.

Booth shut the door behind them and surveyed the hallway. "What'd you find?"

Angela leaned against the wall opposite Booth's door and said, "Honestly, not much. The transmitter in that thing is pretty strong. The receiver could be several blocks away. I'd say up to 500 yards. No way to pinpoint it, omni-directional broadcast. Smart really, if whoever planted it didn't know where he was putting it to begin with."

"Great." Booth shrugged with frustration. "There's no way I can't get approval to search the whole neighborhood for it," Booth said, his frustration growing.

"What I can tell you, is that this is a really high-tech piece of gear. Whoever wanted to listen in on your conversations is probably on your team there, big guy."

"You're sure?" Booth asked.

"A hundred percent? No. But, I'd double down on it if we were in Vegas. My money is on alphabet soup." Seeing Brennan's confused expression she grinned wryly and said, "CIA, FBI, you know. Alphabet soup."

Booth scowled and began pacing the hallway, turning his poker chip over in his hand.

"I'm going to take it with me and see if I can get any details about the manufacturer out of it at the lab. That might give us which agency's interested in you, Booth," Angela said to Booth's back as he spun around once again.

"Booth?" Brennan called after him.

"Yea, Bones?" he answered over his shoulder, as he shoved the chip back in his pocket.

"Wasn't Agent Harkness concerned about who he could trust?" she asked. Booth turned to face her and stopped in his tracks.

"Yeah. He was." He looked at his watch and swore under his breath. "And he's due to call in a just a little while about those files."

"In that case, guys, I need to get that thing out of here and over to the lab so I can get to work on it this afternoon," Angela said, grasping the doorknob. With a flip of her head to toss her hair over her shoulder she added with a penetrating look for both partners, "Oh, and don't either of you think you can hide anything from me." Brennan shifted her gaze from Angela to Booth, who shrugged. "You are _so_ not off the hook. When things settle down with this case, I want details. Lots and lots of details."


	44. Back to Work

44 Back to Work

_Seeley Booth's Apartment_

"That went better than it could have," Booth said while closing the door behind Angela.

"She's not done, you know. We're both going to get burned sometime soon," she said with a serious expression.

Booth closed his eyes, sighed and shook his head as he figured out her meaning. "Grilled. It's grilled, Bones," He followed her back into the living room and fixed his gaze on her with a raised eyebrow when she stifled a giggle. "You got that one wrong on purpose?"

Brennan pressed her lips together trying to hide a smile and shook her head. "I couldn't remember which. I guessed wrong."

"Uhm. Right. I believe you. About Angela, anyway. She's not going to let it go."

Brennan nodded, then picked up her cell phone from the side table and said, "I should probably get to the lab. I didn't finish my examination of the remains yesterday. If I can finish my preliminary analysis, I can call Hodgins in today to begin his examination for particulates. We need answers."

"If you go in now, you won't leave until tomorrow afternoon. Another eighteen hours isn't going to change things. Let the man have his weekend. Besides, Parker was hoping you'd make him macaroni and cheese tonight." Booth moved to stand in front of her, blocking her path to the door.

"Parker was hoping?" Her voice was light and playful. "You told him about my macaroni and cheese?"

"Best I've ever had."

Her eyes sparkled when she tilted her head slightly, grazing her bottom lip with her teeth. He knew the look. She was going to agree. "It will be two o'clock by the time I get to the lab," she said checking her watch. Give me four hours at the lab this afternoon, and I'll make it."

"Deal. I'll call your dad and let him know we're good over here. Then I'll finish going over these logs this afternoon and see if Harkness spotted something we didn't. But, if Angela corners you at the lab, that time still counts towards your four hours."

"Wait, that's not fair," she said obstinately.

Booth shrugged. "They say all's fair in love and war. Take or leave it," he said calmly, pulling her close. She leaned back away from his overwhelming presence, as far as his encircling arms would allow, and narrowed her eyes. Her lips twitched to one side of her mouth. "Dinner around eight?" he suggested, offering some leeway in the timing, but not in their proximity. "As long as I can get Parker in bed by half-past nine, he should be okay for school tomorrow."

"Deal," she said with resignation. "For Parker's sake," she said more lightly.

"I'll take you any way I can have you, Bones."

She looked at him curiously, "That's not what you said Friday night."

"Hm?" he asked, confusion evident on his face.

"Your terms. The parameters I accepted Friday night seem to be in direct conflict with your last statement," she said.

"Fine, then I'll re-word it for your hyper-technical mind. I'll take time with you any way I can. That better?"

"It's certainly more congruent with our prior discussion, yes," she said tilting her head up as he pulled her even closer and he lowered his head to kiss her. Their lips met lightly, yielding to each other. There was no sense of urgency in their kiss, just a deep tenderness of unspoken devotion shared between lovers.

When at last they parted, both were breathing heavily. "If you're going, you better go now before I change my mind and keep you here all afternoon," Booth said, tucking back several strands of her hair that he had just tousled.

"I know," she said lowering her eyes and pressing the palms of her hands against his chest as she backed away from him then turned for the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

Booth watched with a touch of sadness as she re-packed her overnight bag. Once she was gone, Booth stood in an stunned wonder, trying to understand how they had come so far so quickly. He wanted her to stay the night again. He wanted her to stay every night. But he was still afraid to rush her. There was a small part of him that was scared she might change her mind, push him away, or worse, run away.

***

_Temperance Brennan's Apartment_

Brennan drove quickly through the light weekend traffic once she decided on a course of action. She pulled into her parking place, grabbed her overnight bag from the seat beside her, and walked up the path to her apartment building. Small ridges and mounds of snow lined the sidewalk where the grounds keeper had tossed it when shoveling the walk. The crisp air was invigoratingly pleasant with no breeze. Brennan breathed deeply, letting the cold air fill her lungs like a soothing balm.

Inside, Brennan moved swiftly, deliberately, as she pulled a suitcase from her closet and filled it with clothes. Then she packed her laptop and checked her messages. Finally, she turned her attention to the refrigerator, tossing several things, including the perishable items into a cooler. Satisfied with her quick preparations, a burdened Brennan trudged to her car.

***

_Ft. Belvoir, Davidson Army Airfield_

Staff Sergeant Mack Swerling's day was getting worse by the hour. The stand-by flight crew's co-pilot had broken his arm in a car accident on his way to the airfield this morning, and his replacement was a lush. Swerling knew the replacement would be sauced by four o'clock if he couldn't get them airborne before then. Swerling's phone was ringing constantly, and to top it all off, there was a maintenance problem with the plane. A part had to be trucked in from an off-site warehouse. Everything was in motion, but nothing was done, and the hours were ticking by.

Swerling silenced his phone, and headed for the break room. He needed to clear his head. Days like today made him wish he had never given up smoking. But, instead of ducking outside to bum a smoke, he continued down the hall to the canteen. A couple of vending machines, a coffee pot, and a small 17" television graced the tiny room that was otherwise stuffed with hard plastic chairs and two long folding tables. The room was all function and no form. Swerling poured himself his fourth cup of coffee of the day, flipped on the television set and tuned it to a local news station. He sat down and propped his feet on another chair under the table, sipping his coffee while he caught up on the news.

"_And in other news" _the newscaster fawned, _"Virginia police are still looking for the Sinclair family, who disappeared three weeks ago while under protective custody. Law enforcement officials have provided new photographs of the missing family. _Images of the family played on the set like a slide show while a tip line number remained static at the bottom of the screen. _Mark Sinclair, 45, was slated to testify in the trial of Harris Peterson early next year. He, along with his wife Jennifer 42, and their daughter Kayla 17 have been missing since November 8th. If you have any information regarding their whereabouts, please call your local police department."_ Swerling changed the channel and shook his head. "This isn't helping," he muttered to himself. Just then Swerling's phone began to vibrate. "So much for a break," he said, rising from his seat. Swerling took the call. Moments later, he switched off the television and headed out to the VIP lounge. His priority passengers had arrived.

Swerling paused in the hallway outside the VIP lounge. He could see three people in the room from where he stood. A man, probably in his thirties, was helping a gaunt woman who looked at least ten years older than him into a chair beside a drawn and pale younger woman who was already seated. The man was dressed in a suit, the women in neat, but more casual clothing, sweaters and slacks. There was something familiar about the women, but he couldn't place them.

He walked into the lounge and approached the women. Another man in his fifties, also wearing a suit, entered the lounge from the opposite side of the room. The thirty-something man moved to intercept Swerling as he walked up to them.

"Mike Jones," the suit introduced himself. "You must be Sergent Swerling?" he asked.

Swerling nodded and shook Jones' hand. "I am. I'm afraid we have a slight delay to your departure this afternoon. Can I have some refreshments brought in for you while we wait?"

"We'd rather board the plane and wait there," Jones said.

"I'm afraid that's not possible. We've got the plane in the maintenance hangar. I apologize for the inconvenience, but she'll be ready shortly."

Jones huffed and cut a glance toward the other man in the room who nodded back. "Fine. Coffee if you have it."

"And for the ladies?" Swerling asked.

"They're fine. We'll ring you if we need something else," Jones replied.

And then, something about the younger woman drew Swerling's attention. A look, a slight movement, he would never be sure in the years to come. But the haunted look he saw in her eyes once he took notice of her, and really looked at her, sent a spike of cold fear through him and with it, recognition. "Water please?" she croaked. Swerling had seen many passengers come through his terminal, but never had he seen someone look so defeated. He knew then that he could not let the women lift off.

The older man quickly walked over to the young woman, laid a hand on her shoulder, and whispered in her ear. "Water for the ladies, if you please," the older man said more kindly than Jones had.

"I'll have those drinks brought in to you in just a few minutes," Swerling said, composing himself quickly. He retreated through the same door he entered and hurried back to the canteen. He flipped on the television set once again and made a mental note of the channel, then rushed to his office while dialing his phone.


	45. Fish or Cut Bait

45 Fish or Cut Bait

_Ft. Belvoir, Davidson Army Airfield_

_411, send._ Swerling waited while the line clicked, rang twice, and then was answered by an automated recording of a female voice asking, "What city?"

Swerling responded to the automaton, naming Washington DC and then the television station, when prompted again by the slick metallic recording. He pressed a key on his phone to accept a charge to be connected immediately. He had opted for the television station instead of 911 emergency services because he had control over when the passengers could board the plane. One of the things his his years in the Army and especially his posting to the airfield at Ft. Belvoir had taught him, was to be very careful about blowing a situation out of proportion. Better to handle something on a small scale and receive small accolades than to cry wolf and and wind up unpromotable.

"WKAZ, DC, how may I direct your call?" a live woman answered the connection.

"News room please" Swerling said.

"Do you know the party you wish to reach, sir?" she asked.

"No, I need to talk to someone about a missing persons story that just aired."

"One moment please," she said, and then he was in phone limbo again. A radio broadcast played over the phone while he waited for the next connection.

"News desk, Gina Rogers speaking," a pleasant and professional voice announced.

"Miss Rogers, can you please tell me the number you broadcast a few minutes ago about a missing family story?" he asked.

"May I have your name, sir?" she asked politely.

"No, I'm sorry. I can't give you that information. I just need the tip line number."

"For the Sinclair family story?"

"Yes, that's it," he said.

"All right, it's 1-888-...,"

"Okay," Swerling said, jotting down the number on his desk blotter. When she finished giving him the number, he read it back. Upon her affirmative acknowledgment of the number, Swerling disconnected the line and dialed an in-house extension. He asked one of his men to see to the drink requests for his 'guests,' and then finally dialed the tip line.

***

_Seeley Booth's Apartment_

"Yea, Max. Thanks. I really appreciate all your help today. And, I'm sorry 'Becca flipped out. I figured I'd have some damage control to...." Three faint noises sounded in Booth's ear, causing him to break off his words. "Hold on, would you Max? I've got another call." Booth tucked away a mental note to teach that sound to Parker.

Booth switched over to the other line, "Booth." He listened intently and said, "Got it, airfield VIP terminal at Ft. Belvoir. Tactical is enroute. I'll meet them at the terminal." Booth shut his phone, which promptly rang again. "Booth!" he exclaimed into the phone. "Sorry Max. Got a break in the case. Meet us back at my place by eight o'clock and stay for dinner. It's the least we can do to thank you for everything," he said hurriedly, checking his shoulder holster. He listened again, then ended the call with a quick, "Great. See you then."

Speed dial 1 had him ringing Brennan's phone a moment later while he dashed to the bedroom for his backup pistol. When her voice mail answered he took a deep breath and slowed his speech to a more normal pace, his shoulder holding the phone in place while he strapped on his ankle holster. "Bones, we've got a lead. Someone spotted Sinclair's wife and daughter at Ft. Belvoir. I'm going to meet the tactical crew and see if we can round them up. I'll call when I know more. And, I ah, invited your dad for dinner. I might not be back by the time you're finished at the lab. Just let yourself in. We'll all be back by eight." He was about to hang up but added, "I love you," before he ended the call.

***

_Washington Golf and Country Club, informal dining room_

William Chandler leaned back in his chair with a glass of whiskey in hand after finishing lunch with his niece who sat opposite him, finishing a mimosa. "So, sweet pea, what do you have in mind for the rest of the day?" he asked, his mild southern accent a touch stronger than usual.

"Oh, not much, Uncle Billy," she drawled. "Although I thought I might call a fella I met on Friday though, see if he's worked out a little complication he had."

"Well, it's about time, Karen. I swannie, you've been here nearly three years and this is the first man I've heard you mention. Just who is this fella that's finally caught your eye?" he asked.

"Now, Uncle, I only just met him Friday, like I said. He's an FBI agent I met at the Park," she said, lowering her voice. "You know, when they found that body," she added in a near whisper, leaning towards him over the table to keep her words just between them. "And, he said he's not exactly available, but things change. So, I'll take my chances."

"FBI, eh? They're all right most of the time. Is he just a pretty face, or did you get a name to go with it?" he asked.

"Seeley Booth."

Chandler pursed his lips thoughtfully and said, "Odd name that, Seeley." His face was a practiced mask that never betrayed his recognition of the name.

"I thought so too. But he's also a pretty face, if you know what I mean."

Chandler chuckled. "Indeed I do. Tell you what. I'll see if I can find out anything about this agent for you. I don't want my only niece getting involved with someone who's got a bad reputation in the industry."

"Oh, Uncle Billy, don't do that. We're hardly involved," she said miming quotations in the air. "Save that for after our first date, why don't you?"

Chandler harrumphed, but nodded. "Have it your way. You always were more like your father than my baby sister. "Derrick Cole would be proud, I'm sure," he said snidely.

"No need to be nasty, Uncle," she said playfully, then finished off her mimosa while Chandler answered his cell phone.

"Yello," Chandler said. "I see," he nodded to no one as he looked out over the snow covered golf course. "Yes, indeed. I thank you for the heads-up." Chandler hung up, and then stood. "Sweet pea, I need to make a few calls. There might be a Bridge game in the lounge you could join while I take care of this."

"Oh, you intelligence folks always think you're so high and mighty. I'll go amuse myself, Uncle Billy. Don't you worry about me," Cole said, placing her glass on the table and standing herself.

Chandler kissed her on the cheek and they parted company in the hallway. Cole strolled towards the lounge, and Chandler to a private room down the hall. Chandler closed the door to the small, but sumptuous private meeting room and made the first of many calls that afternoon.

"The airfield is blown. Someone recognized the women and called a tip line of all things. It's time to fish or cut bait."


	46. Leverage

46. Leverage

_CIA, Langley, Virginia_

"_Damn Chandler,"_ Ralph Morgan thought as he slammed his phone down on his desk, _"and his ridiculous southern expressions. What exactly does 'fish or cut bait' mean?" _he wondered. Not that he spared the fleeting thought much more time than that. Morgan lay the blame for the entire debacle squarely on Chandler's shoulders. If he had not pushed to send the women out of the country, no one would have seen them. He could have taken his time and completely broken and recreated those women before delivering them to their new lives.

There was always a leveragable market for English speaking subservient women. Although the Sinclair women were not ideal candidates, he would have found a purpose for which they were suitable—an arms dealer or a drug dealer somewhere, or as trade for other intelligence purposes.

But no, Chandler had to have his way. Now Morgan was likely going to lose two fully vetted assets in addition to the women. Loss of the women, while regrettable, was manageable. They were expendable and replaceable. The men, on the other hand, were solid assets that would take significant time and money to replace. Perhaps time and money he didn't have.

In the hopes that he could salvage something out of the Ft. Belvoir mess, Morgan placed a phone call to Mr. Jones' handler. "Family Planning is Echo Tango," Morgan said when the line connected, reciting the code that would put in motion a series of events that would end the lives of the Sinclair women, but that maybe, just maybe, might get his assets out alive.

_Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab_

"Angie!" Hodgins called across the lab, having spotted her carrying two large equipment cases towards her office.

"Hey, Jack. What are you doing here today?"

"Eh, I didn't stay Friday to do any of the particulate analysis, and I figured Dr. B would be wanting an update first thing tomorrow. So, here I am," he explained while crossing the lab. He relieved her of one of the cases and carried it towards her office. "What's all this?"

"How much gossip are you up for?" she asked mischievously.

"You know me, Ange, I'm always ready for a juicy tidbit."

"Tell me something I don't know," she replied as she raked her gaze over him when he set the case down beside her desk. He flopped down in one of the chairs near her desk before asking, "So, what gossip are you starting now?"

"Hey, I'm not 'starting' anything. Just telling you what I saw," she said taking her seat and facing him.

"Spill it."

"Okay. So, I get this call from Booth this afternoon asking me to come over with my gear, saying his apartment was broken into and he thought the guy planted a bug. When I get there, Brennan is there."

"Back up, his apartment was robbed?"

"Let me finish, Jack."

He gave her a little half smile of apology and a shrug.

"Right, so. There's Brennan. No make-up, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, no jewelry, and _no shoes_!" she exclaimed.

"Didn't they just find a fresh set of remains Friday? I bet they were just just working on the case. Don't get me wrong. If any two people were meant to be together," he said slowly with a touch of sadness in his voice, "it's them. I just don't see them ever figuring it out."

Angela gave him a knowing glance before continuing, "Have you ever seen Brennan go someplace without at least a chunky necklace or dangly earrings? She is my best friend, but seriously, for a scientist, she's kinda vain. I like to think that's my influence," she said proudly.

Hodgins snorted. "Okay, no jewelry is kinda un-Brennan-like. But she...."

"No, Jack. Listen. I called them on it. And. They. Didn't. Deny. It."

Hodgins' face lit up like a little boy on Christmas morning. "Do you really think that they finally hooked up?"

Angela met and held his eyes for a long moment before she replied. "I'd stake my reputation on it."

"What are you staking your reputation on, Agne?" Brennan asked from the doorway, causing both Hodgins and Angela to jump out of their seats, stammering.

"Well, you see. I was telling Jack about the bug," Angela said. "How I think it's probably CIA or FBI issue technology."

"That's right," Jack said, taking his cue from Angela. "You know me. I'm all about the conspiracy, and this one's juicy," he said, rubbing his hands together and shooting Angela a look that promised they would continue their conversation later.

"Yes, well. I didn't expect you'd be here, Dr. Hodgins. I'm going to finish my initial assessment of the bones. If you'll be here a for a while, I'll let you know when I've finished. Of course, you could check the sternum and the L4 rib now. There are definite kerf marks there. I'm fairly certain the cause of death was a blade through the heart."

"I'm on it, Dr. B. Angie, let me know when you find out about that bug, and if I can help with it. You know I love that stuff."

"You got it, Jack."

Hodgins made a hasty retreat from Angela's office, but cast a one last furtive glance back at Brennan and Angela. Brennan appeared to be clueless over their real topic of conversation, which gave Hodgins a sense of relief as he turned his attention to the remains.

"Thanks for working on this today, Ange. It means a lot," Brennan said.

"Sweetie, I'd do anything in the world for you. You know that right?"

Brennan nodded, shut Angela's door, and muted her phone. "You might as well ask. I'll give you 10 minutes to … grill me, but then it's back to work."

"Hey, it's none of my business, right?"

Brennan stared at her friend. "No, you need to ask. I don't want you holding this conversation over my head as some sort of leverage. I have work to do and plans for when I'm finished with work, none of which will be accomplished unless we take care of this now."

"Who am I kidding. Did you seal the deal?" she asked breathlessly, as she pulled Brennan into the chair Hodgins just vacated.

"If you mean by 'seal the deal,' did I have sex with Booth, then the answer is yes," Brennan said evenly.

The squeal that erupted from Angela caused Brennan to clasp her hands quickly over her ears. "Oh. My. God, Bren. I knew something happened! Was it incredible? Wait, I know it was. Oh, my God, I'm so happy for you and Agent Studly. And, can I just say, it's about time."

Brennan finally dropped her hands. "Any more questions?" she asked quietly.

"Only about a million, but I can't think of any just this second because I'm so completely ecstatic for you."

"In that case, I'm going to get to work," Brennan said, beginning to rise from the chair.

"Oh no you don't, sweetie. Put your butt back in that chair."

Brennan sighed and settled back down in the seat and waited while Angela studied her. Brennan felt a bit like a slide under a microscope. "Ange, are you just going to stare at me?"

With a shake of her head she leaned forward and said, "Tell me all about it. What led up to it? Did you start it or did he? Did you finally realize you love the man, or did you convince him to satisfy a 'biological urge?'" Angela finally asked in a rush.

"Ange, I'm not sure where to start. Ever since Sweets brought to our attention that Booth and I have been in a surrogate relationship,"

"What?" Angela exclaimed, interrupting Brennan. "When did Sweets say that, and exactly how long _have_ you been doing the horizontal mambo with Booth?"

"That's quite a metaphor," Brennan said evasively, then shook her head. "Sweets isn't important. Forget about Sweets. What's important is that I initiated the discussion about changing the status of our surrogate relationship. That was Thursday, after we got the verdict in the Dungeon Dweller case."

"So you and Booth hooked up Thursday?"

"No, Ange, you didn't let me finish. If you keep interrupting me, you'll never get the rest of the story in the five minutes you have left."

"Sorry," she said leaning back in her chair, motioning for Brennan to continue.

Now that she had begun, Brennan's words flowed more easily as she recounted the events of the past few days. "Thursday night, he turned me down and told me he loved me."

"Oh," Angela began, but then slapped her hands across her mouth and stared at Brennan wide-eyed.

Brennan raised an eyebrow at the near interruption, but continued, "Then we got the call about Sinclair, so we headed to Quantico. I'll admit to being irritated with him at that point. On the drive down, he began interrogating me about why I had kissed him, and what I was trying to do."

Unable to control herself, Angela fist pumped the air and incredulously asked, "You kissed him? Way to go, Bren!" A hard look from Brennan brought her back under control. "Sorry, go on," she said sheepishly.

"I'm trying," Brennan said with exasperation. A sulky nod from Angela prompted her to continue. "At any rate, the result of his interrogation was that Booth needed to determine for himself whether what I feel for him constitutes love, since it's a rather abstract concept, but one he seems to feel quite strongly. So he suggested we go on a date, which we did on Friday night."

Angela smiled at her friend's odd description of love and the thought of Booth and Brennan on a date.

Wistfully, Brennan continued. "Ange, it was really nice. We went to Wong Fu's for supper. We talked almost exclusively about what we both want from the relationship. Well, more accurately, mostly what he wants. He said he would be willing if I could meet certain conditions. In his words, 'fidelity and honesty.'"

Angela's eyes grew wider.

"After dinner, we were walking out to the car, well, that's what I thought we were doing, but he had procured a horse drawn carriage. We rode all over Washington while the snow was falling."

"I always knew he was a romantic," Angela commented, to which Brennan only nodded.

"In the carriage, I told him what a wreck I was when I thought he was dead, and … I told him I love him," she said quietly.

"Really? Oh, Bren! I knew you couldn't be that blind. We've all seen how much you love each other. And, we've all hoped you two would get over that whole 'just partners' line for years now. So, Friday night you sealed the deal?" she chuckled, thinking deal was a perfect description.

"No, not Friday. We went back to my apartment after the carriage ride, but Marge Stinson—Parker's grandmother—had a heart attack, and Booth had to pick up Parker so Rebecca wouldn't have to take him to the hospital. Saturday, I worked in the morning, and went to Booth's that afternoon. We worked on the case most of the evening, and then I spent the night last night, which pretty much catches you up. He went to church with Parker this morning; I tackled the intruder, and here we are."

"Oh, sweetie," Angela said, jumping to her feet to hug Brennan.

_Seeley Booth's SUV_

With siren blaring and lights flashing, Booth blew through a stop light on his way to Ft. Belvoir, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping his cell phone. "Tom, glad I got a hold of you."

"Booth, are you running your siren?" Harkness asked loudly.

"What? Oh yea, siren's on. Gimme a sec." Booth cleared a patch of traffic then silenced his siren, but left the lights flashing and reduced his speed. "Listen buddy, I've got a lead. Sinclair's family was spotted at Ft. Belvoir, trying to catch a VIP flight. I'm meeting a tactical team there." Booth pulsed his siren to clear through an intersection, then returned to his silent running and Harkness.

"Well, I can't make it for the show, but I can be there for the wrap," Harkness said.

"No, no. I don't need you to break any land-speed records. I'll give you call once we mop it up down here. Oh, and I haven't got squat on the transcripts yet," Booth said.

"Well, I might have something we can leverage for some intel on that point, but I'm not finished looking at all this crap you sent me." Harkness griped.

"Me either, pal. And, I had help, so don't feel bad." Booth said. "Hang on again." Booth switched on the siren once more and nimbly slipped the large vehicle through a knot of traffic. "Okay, so, I'll call you when we have something on Sinclair's family and then you can fill me in on your transcript hunt."

"Right. Talk with you then, Booth."

"You betcha," Booth said.

"And, thanks," Harkness said before disconnecting the line. Booth nodded to himself, pleased.


	47. Focus

47. Focus

_Jeffersonian, Medico Legal Lab_

Brennan stayed in Angela's office longer than the ten minutes she originally intended. Thirty minutes and several tissues later, a deeply embedded sense of stress and tension was now gone. Oddly, she knew she would not have been able to identify the feeling before today. But in its absence, she was filled with relief and contentment. Now she was ready to devote the rest of her afternoon to the remains of Mark Sinclair.

Brennan un-muted her phone and checked the voicemail that arrived during her discussion with Angela as she swiped her card and climbed the steps to the platform. Hearing Booth's urgent tone, she paused at the top of the stairs.

"Everything okay, Dr. B?" Hodgins asked from his station when he noticed her pause. Unnoticed by either Brennan or Hodgins, Camile Saroyan stood watchful near the lab entrance, listening to their exchange.

Brennan shook her head and raised a hand, indicating he should wait a moment. Upon closing her phone, she turned to him and said, "They found Sinclair's wife and daughter. Someone was trying to fly them out of town. Booth has gone to stop them." She checked the time and amended, "He's probably already there."

"Where?" Hodgins asked, standing.

"An airfield at Ft. Belvoir."

"Davidson Army Airfield. Oh! This is huge," Hodgins said intensely, eyes gleaming as he caught wind of a fresh conspiracy. "That's where they fly political VIPs in and out of town. Military security. That means someone in the military or the government is definitely behind this. No one else could get clearance to fly out of there. Combine that with the bug Angie found, and my money is on CIA."

"Why the CIA, Jack?" Brennan asked.

"Better the CIA than the FBI, Dr. B. If the FBI is doing electronic surveillance on one of its own, then Booth has a lot more trouble brewing than he wants. The only reason they would bug him would be if they thought he was involved in something shady. _We_ know that's not it, but if they think it..., whew. If I were him, I'd much rather be bugged by the CIA than by my own agency."

"That's not a reasoned argument as to why you think it is most likely the CIA," she said, becoming exasperated.

"Right. Well, I didn't really consider another agency either, like the NSA. Although that doesn't really seem as likely. Traditionally, they're all about encryption." Hodgins swiveled his stool, apparently deep in thought. "And, I guess now that we know about the Ft. Belvoir connection, we could be looking at an Army operation too, or possibly another military branch."

"Are you now arguing against the CIA?" Brennan asked, curious.

"No, just thinking it through." He shook his head. "I stand by my original assessment. You want logic, try this one on for size. You're investigating the murder of the prosecution's star witness against who? The CIA, baby," Hodgins finished with a flourish. Brennan raised an eyebrow at Hodgins, who quickly responded, "Sorry about the baby thing."

Brennan nodded. "That's logic I can follow. It's not proof, but it is logical."

"Yea, but what does it tell us?" Hodgins asked, some of his previous excitement gone.

"It tells us that we are most likely investigating an on-going operation, not a busted one," Saroyan said, then swiped her card to join them on the forensic platform. "If Seeley is being bugged, someone is looking to protect an ongoing operation. They want to know what Seeley knows and who he tells so they can work on damage control."

"That's my thinking too, Dr. Saroyan," Hodgins agreed.

"People, we need to find out if whatever is going on is sanctioned or under the table. If we can figure that out, we'll know who we can trust," Cam said. "And that's Booth's thing."

"In the meantime, I'm going to finish my examination of Sinclair's remains," Brennan said, then walked to the examination table that bore Sinclair's remains.

"Yea, I've got swabs from those kerf marks running through the mass spectrometer now. We''ll see what turns up," Hodgins informed them.

"Good. Just remember to keep focused on what it is we do here. I'm sure Booth has already reached the same conclusions we did, and probably in less than half the time. Get him some forensic evidence to use when he finally hauls someone in, okay?" Saroyan said. Her tone was questioning, by her body language conveyed the sentiment as an order.

"On it," Hodgins said, swiveling his stool around to face his work station.

"Dr. Brennan," Saroyan said, joining Brennan at the exam table. "What kerf marks did you find?"

"There are two marks, most likely from opposite sides of a double bladed knife. One on the sternum, the other just nicking the L4 rib. Based on these marks," Brennan held each under a magnifying light for Saroyan's inspection, "I believe he was stabbed. No hesitation marks on the bones. This was a single, well placed thrust, leading me to believe our killer is quite adept with his weapon of choice."

"Good work, Dr. Brennan," Saroyan said encouragingly. "I thought he was killed by a blow to the head, based on my autopsy results."

"Ah, the skull fractures are misleading. But, there is no staining on the vault surface. Which leads me to believe the fracture was post mortem. I'm going to have Angela work on some scenarios once I finish cataloging all the injuries and any anomalies, and once she is finished working on the listening device," Brennan informed her.

"All right. Keep me posted," Saroyan replied, heading to her office. Brennan nodded in reply, but Saroyan had already turned away and did not see her.

_Ft. Belvoir, Davidson Army Airfield, outside the VIP terminal lounge_

Booth pulled along side one of the FBI tactical team panel trucks just out of sight of the terminal. As soon as he was out of the car, he was met by Boyce Richards, a tactical team member. Richards was carrying an earwig and a bullet proof vest. Booth accepted both with a brief nod, inserted the earpiece, and the familiar chatter of position checks filled his left ear. Booth quickly shrugged into his vest and followed Richards to the rally point where the bulk of the team was working out last minute details.

"We have point men in good in line of sight positions around the terminal. But, there is only one window to the room our suspects and hostages are in. It faces the flight line, so we haven't been able to put a man on it without revealing his position," Richards informed him.

"Any place to put a sniper?" Booth asked, his curiosity piqued.

"No, nothing suitable within 300 yards,"

"Do we have a map?" Booth asked.

"Right here." Richards tapped a folding table holding several coffee mugs positioned strategically to pin down the corners of a map.

Booth studied the map for a moment, then poked an index finger at the map, indicating a warehouse some distance from their current location. "What about here. It's across the river, far enough away to not attract attention, but it should still be in range. Maybe 700 yards."

"That's a hell of a shot, Booth," Richards said.

"Got anyone who can make it?" Booth asked.

"I'll have to pull him out of his current position, but maybe. I think Rodriguez could make that shot."

"I _know_ I can," Booth said.

Richards gave Booth a hard look. "When's the last time you spotted your own target, Booth? I don't have anyone to spare for you."

"I still work the skills, Boyce. I don't like it, but I can make the shot."

_Ft. Belvoir, Davidson Army Airfield, VIP terminal lounge_

Mike Jones paced the floor of the small waiting room. Coffee and water had been delivered, as requested, but the Private who brought the tray had not left the room. In fact, he had taken up a seat at the small desk and was working on a computer there. A small window overlooked a vast stretch of tarmac, and he occasionally watched as planes taxied. None turned towards this gate.

Jones made a circuit of the room again, then stopped beside the tray of refreshments and was pouring himself a cup of coffee when his phone rang. "Jones," he said into the small device, and then, if anyone was watching, they would have seen all the color drain from his face. "I understand," he said, then pocketed his phone. Jones turned on his heel, caught the attention of his partner, and they met across the room from the Private to stand before the single window overlooking the flight line. He whispered to him, "Echo Tango."

His partner took a slow deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened his eyes seconds later, he met Jones' gaze, then glanced at the Private who appeared busy with the computer.

_Warehouse across the river from Ft. Belvoir_

Less than twenty minutes after Richards agreed to send Booth to the warehouse, Booth was in position on the roof calculating wind drift and dialing in his range on the window to the terminal. Looking through the scope and adjusting his focus, he watch as one of the suspects put a cell phone to his ear and then blanched. Booth kept the rifle trained on the pale, younger man as he walked towards the window and radioed in to Richards, "I'm in position. One of the suspects just got some bad news by phone. You need to move in now or give me a green light."


	48. Breach

48. Breach

_Warehouse across the river from Ft. Belvoir_

"We're in position and moving in, Booth. Fire only if necessary to protect the Sinclairs. Breach in fifteen seconds," Richards said rapidly.

"Roger," Booth said, acknowledging his firing orders. He slowed his breathing and watched the younger man through his scope. Time slowed and the seconds stretched before him as his target seemed to move in slow motion. The younger man approached the window and was joined by a silver haired man. The spoke briefly and then looked into the room. Their position at the window blocked Booth's view of the women. The younger man nodded to the older, then reached into his jacket. From Booth's vantage point, he saw a glint of metal flash through the window when the younger man withdrew his hand. The man turned to face the window and bowed his head to fiddle with the pistol clearly visible to Booth through the scope. The last thought Booth had before he mechanically exhaled and gently squeezed the trigger was "wound, not kill." The window shattered and misted with blood, obscuring the room from Booth's view. Time then leapfrogged to a normal pace as he stood and reported his shot to Richards, his pulse pounding in his ears.

_Ft. Belvoir, Davidson Army Airfield, VIP terminal lounge_

Richards gave the breach order immediately after giving Booth his firing orders. A few seconds before the team breached the terminal, Richards heard glass breaking and pained screams. He swore under his breath as they pushed into the the small room. Richards barely registered Booth's voice reporting the shot. Several team members yelled "FBI, freeze!" as they secured the room. The team immediately subdued an uninjured man near the window and then escorted the women outside to safety. The private was picking himself off the floor under his desk when Richards kicked a pistol away from the wounded man who was propped against the wall under the window, surrounded by shattered safety glass.

"Search them for weapons and cell phones," Richards ordered.

"Sir?" The private asked Richards as he cautiously approached.

"Special Agent Boyce Richards, FBI," Richards peered at the man's name patch while securing his weapon.

"It's Pierce, sir. Private Pierce. I think my boss would like to talk with you." Pierce glanced beyond Richards momentarily. "He, ah, told me to sit in here until their plane was ready. Not to let the four of them out of my sight."

"And who is your boss, Private Pierce?"

"Staff Sergent Swerling, sir."

"Right here, Agent Richards," Swerling said, stepping cautiously into the room. Richards nodded his permission to Swerling who acknowledged the nod by entering further into the room and joining the two men near the desk, keeping clear of the shattered glass.

"Sorry about keeping you in the dark, Jimmy," Swerling said to Pierce. "I would have done it myself if I thought I could have kept from fidgeting and giving away what I knew."

"At least you knew, Sarge. I'm glad someone knew something about this."

"Sergent, I realize you are both on duty here. Can you get some coverage so we can take your statements?" Richards asked.

"No need, Agent Richards. The only reason I'm even here today is to see that they," he indicated the wounded man with a quick look, "got off the ground today. And that just isn't going to happen. Jimmy got called in for the same reason."

"Good, let's clear out of this area and let the team clean up then." Richards escorted the men outside.

***

Daylight was beginning to fade by the time Booth returned to the terminal, and the scene was all but wrapped up. Richards met him and shook his hand. "Nice shot, Booth."

"Thanks, Boyce. But you could have made the shot. He gave it to me on a platter. Faced the window to turn of his safety. Breathe, shoot, radio."

"Be modest all you want, it was still a fine shot. You took him through the shoulder. By all accounts, he dropped the gun immediately. The women are in protective custody again and already off site. It appears they've been heavily drugged over the past few weeks. The guy you shot just got hauled to the hospital, and his partner is being taken to lockup," Richards informed him.

"Nice. I passed the ambulance on my way back here. Did you arrange for security at the hospital?"

"Yeah, but I didn't know what sort of arrangements you'd want for the other guy."

"I'll square it. Hey, where's the cell phone off the one I shot?"

"I'm gonna send it to the office to pull all the calls made to and from. Same with the other guy."

"Can you have them expedite that for me? I want to know who called him right before I fired when I question them," Booth said.

"Sure thing."

"Thanks." Booth tapped Richards' shoulder with his closed fist. "Good working with you today, Boyce. You have this mess under control?"

"Not a problem. Get outta here."

"You don't have to tell me twice. I'll pick up on the interviews tomorrow. Consider me gone, man. See you on the paperwork side of it," Booth said, to which Richards just grunted and bumped Booth hard with his shoulder as he walked past. Booth chuckled and headed for his car.

_Seeley Booth's Apartment, Washington DC_

Traffic was light for an early Sunday evening. Anywhere except perhaps LA would have considered the traffic heavy. He called Brennan while stuck behind an accident on the beltway around six o'clock. To his surprise, she informed him she had left the lab a few minutes earlier and was heading home herself. Booth nearly hit the car in front of him because she said she was "heading home to prepare supper," and it took every bit of willpower he possessed to not comment afterwards. Instead, he simply told her would see her as soon as he could get there.

It was fully dark by the time Booth reached his apartment nearly forty minutes later. He parked beside Brennan's little sports car and and took the stairs two at a time, smiling the whole way. Booth nearly tripped entering his kitchen. He managed to stay upright, but only just. He slammed a foot into a sturdy blue and white cooler propped open beside the refrigerator and hopped around it reaching for a counter top to steady himself. "Bones! What the hell? Are you trying to kill me here?"

Brennan turned away from the sink at the commotion. "Booth, are you all right?"

He grimaced and worked his foot against the floor in a circular motion. "Yea. I'm fine. Little warning next time?"

"You should look where you're going."

"It's not like I was expecting cooler two feet from the front door," he replied.

"It's closer to two meters."

"Whatever," he said dismissively. He bent down and lifted a container of juice and a wedge of cheese from the cooler. "What's with all this?" he asked.

"I brought a few things from my apartment that I didn't want to go to waste. I only turned away from unpacking it to put the celery and carrots in the sink."

"Bones, I'm pretty sure this stuff wouldn't have gone bad by tomorrow."

"Of course it wouldn't, Booth. But I'm not planning on going home tomorrow. We're eating the cheese tonight anyway. I need to get that grated. Where's your grater?" she asked, while rummaging in a drawer.

"Next one over. By the stove," he said. "But, what do you mean you aren't going home tomorrow, Temperance?" he put the juice in the refrigerator and closed the distance between them.

She stopped her rummaging then and faced him, flustered. "Oh. I. Did I misunderstand something, Booth?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her. "I made an assumption that I obviously should not have made. I'm sorry. I'll …."

Booth stopped her ramble by gently cupping an elbow and teasing free her hands, which he then held in his. "I want you to stay with me for as long as you like."

"But you just asked why I wasn't going home," she said.

"Because I want you to tell me what you planned to do," he said mischievously.

"Oh," she said as a small smile crept upon her face. "I intended to stay here, with you and Parker this week."

The twinkle in her eyes was all the assurance he needed to continue teasing her as he pulled her close. "I get it," he whispered. "You're afraid someone bugged your apartment and you want to stay here," he teased. "That's okay. I'll fix up the couch for you." He concluded almost inaudibly, his breath warm against her neck.

"That's a highly inappropriate place for me to sleep unless you're interested in providing a practical demonstration of human sexuality for Parker this evening."

"You're a wicked woman, Bones. How could you play the Parker card on me?" Booth asked before he hungrily sought her lips. Brennan yielded to and returned his kiss, momentarily forgetting all the preparation she needed to complete if they were to eat homemade macaroni and cheese that evening.

When she broke away from his embrace, she said, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to play the Parker card again. Go on unless you're going to help me cook, or your son doesn't get mac 'n cheese tonight."

Booth groaned, but nodded. "Fine. I get it. I'm either being tossed out of my own kitchen or being pressed into doing some more work today." He winked at her, then turned back to the cooler and hefted it onto the counter and began to transfer its contents to the refrigerator. Together, they worked in a comfortable silence, Brennan busy creating the cheese sauce, Booth emptying the cooler. When he finished, he stuffed the cooler into his hall coat closet and returned to the kitchen. "What can I do to help, Bones?"

"Tell me what happened today at Ft. Belvoir. I know you said everyone survived, but you didn't give me any details."

"Well, let me see," Booth said while preparing the meatloaf. "I met up with Boyce Richards and the tactical team while they were still getting into position. The Sinclairs were guarded by two men in a private terminal, waiting for a plane to be maintenanced and refueled. I haven't seen anyone's report yet, but one of the terminal staff must have recognized the Sinclairs and called in the tip. Anyway, the room they were in had three exits, one to the flight line, one out to the shuttle area, and a third for access the rest of the terminal building. Boyce had men at every exit except the flight line. He couldn't get anyone close enough without revealing their position through the room's sole window. I suggested he put a sniper across the river from the fort. So he sent me."

Brennan laid down a block of cheese and leaned against the counter, giving him her full attention.

"One of the men got a call, then pulled a pistol. Someone must have tipped him off that we were onto them, so I shot him."

"You said he survived though?"

Booth nodded with a serious look on his face. "I hit where I aimed."

Brennan met his eyes with her own. "You always do."

A half smile twitched the right side of his face before he continued. "We'll have several interviews tomorrow. We've got the Sinclairs, both their captors, and the guy you caught here."

"I finished my examination of Mark Sinclair's remains today. I can spend tomorrow at the Hoover if that's where we need to be." Brennan met his eyes again before turning back to her supper preparations.

"Find anything new?" he asked, then slid the meatloaf into the oven and set the timer.

"What temperature does that cook on?" she asked.

"350."

She nodded, saying "Nothing of interest to the case so far. Hodgins was running samples through the mass spec when I left. He's hoping to narrow down the composition of the weapon. Perhaps that will give us another lead."

"You dragged him into work anyway?" Booth asked incredulously.

"What?" she asked, glance up at him. "No. He was there when I arrived. He and Angela were in her office discussing the bug."

A look of curiosity formed on Booth's face. "Interesting," he said quietly. Brennan had the distinct feeling he wasn't referring to the bug. He shook his head briefly, as if to clear it, then said, "What bothers me though, is the security breach. This op came together pretty quickly today. Someone who knew we were headed to the airfield must have passed along information about it for that dirt bag to get a tip."

Brennan became thoughtful, then said, "I only mentioned it to Dr. Hodgins and Dr. Saroyan. Angela was in her office, I believe, when I listened to your message."

"Unless the lab is bugged, I'm not worried about who you told there."

"Perhaps we should check the lab?"

Booth nodded his agreement. "Might want to check your apartment too. I was kidding earlier, but I don't want to take any chances. I'm going to grab a shower before dinner, then I'll see if I can reach Angela." Booth leaned in to kiss her cheek, careful to keep his unwashed hands clear. "Your dad and Parker should be here around seven-thirty."


	49. Family

49. Family

_Seeley Booth's Apartment, Washington DC, late Sunday night_

The apartment was finally quiet when Booth emerged from Parker's room after tucking his son into bed. It had been a long and draining day, and Booth was feeling every moment of it. He leaned wearily against the wall where the hall opened into the living room. Brennan was seated at one end of the couch, her legs curled beside her, with a file folder in her lap and a highlighter tucked behind her ear. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, long wisps trailing free. The weight of his gaze must have alerted her to his presence because she looked up to meet his eyes. "Is he asleep?" she asked in dulcet tones.

Booth nodded and pushed himself off the wall with a barely audible grunt to stride across the room and sit beside her, sinking heavily into the cushions. "He was asleep before I finished reading the third page," he said while gingerly raising each of his legs in turn to prop them on the low table situated in front of the couch, then stretched his arms wide, sliding both along the back of the couch and yawned.

Brennan slid her stocking clad feet off the couch and deposited the file folder and highlighter on the table. She stayed leaned forward, but turned towards him with her elbows propped on her knees and cradled her chin in palms of her hands. "Dad made me promise to tell you again that he really enjoyed having Parker today. And before you ask, the answer is yes. I made sure to tell him you were most appreciative of him watching Parker in the first place." She turned and grabbed two bottles of beer from the side table and handed him one of them.

"Thanks, Bones," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as she leaned back against him.

She lazily ran a hand along his thigh and leaned back against his arm as she sipped from the bottle. "I want to thank you too."

He rested his bottle against his other leg, making damp rings on his jeans, and responded with a questioning "Hhmm?"

"You know I was not thrilled that you called my father." Sensing him tense under the light touch of her hand on his leg, she gently patted him and continued speaking before he could interrupt. "But," she paused and pursed her lips as if to practice the shape of the words she was about to speak. "I was wrong. I should have known he would be supportive. I'm beginning to think he has wanted us to get together for a while now. So, thank you—for calling him to watch Parker and for inviting him for dinner. It was nice to spend time together, even though it was a hectic day." She paused, a faraway look on her face. "Perhaps it was because of the hectic day that it was especially nice to spend time together."

Booth's heart soared at the depth of emotion and intuition she was allowing herself to use so freely. He thought his heart might burst with pride and love, and he found himself fighting back a tear or two. He didn't trust his voice and so said nothing, but he snugged her against him a little tighter. When the wave of emotion passed and he felt his power of speech had returned, he said, "You're welcome, Bones." Although he was unwilling to share the nature of a discussion he had with Max Brennan several weeks ago about the status of their relationship, he said, "You're probably right about your Dad. Hey, maybe we should make a habit of this. Have dinner one night a week with as much family as can make it."

"Is that what we are?" she asked sleepily.

"You mean in addition to partners and lovers?" She nodded. "Yea, Bones, you're my family."

"But we're not married," she said quietly.

He sighed into her hair and whispered, "More than one type of family, Bones."

"I still don't want to get married, Booth," she said even more quietly.

"I know. Archaic ritual and all that." He peered at her from the corner of his eye and gave her a lopsided grin, "Do you hear me asking you to marry me?" "Really. I mean, we did just start dating, Bones. That's at least five or six months down the line. And, I'd have to ask Max first if he would give us his blessing... ouch!" Booth exclaimed raising his beer to keep it from spilling, his teasing cut short by a jab to the ribs from Brennan's elbow.

She scooted away from him on the couch. "If you ever think to ask my father for permission to do anything with me, you better think again, buster," Brennan said with fire in her eyes.

"Geez, Bones. I was just teasing." He placed his beer on the table with a thud, splashing a few drops on the table. "Is this what it's going to be like? Am I going to be black and blue whenever we're together?" he asked, rubbing his side. "First my toes, now my ribs. What's next?" he asked, his good humor returning.

"You know how I feel about marriage, Booth. And you should know me well enough to know that even if I were to change my mind about the institution, which I'll add is not likely, I would still not want anyone, er," she shook her head as if confused, "you, to ask anyone _except me_ whether I want to get married!"

"I think you missed the part where I said I was teasing," he said, still rubbing his side, but smiling again.

"Don't you try to charm you way out of this one. I mean it. Don't smile at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked sidling closer to her on the couch, pouring on the charm for all he was worth.

"Like. That," she said looking away from his smoldering gaze, her own anger dissipating rapidly.

"Okay, he said, giving a little ground and edging back just a bit. He grabbed her hand instead and pressed his lips against her palm. He could feel her tension dissolve as he slowly kissed his way up her arm. "Do you think we could skip arguing about how I may or may not ask you to marry me for the time being?"

"Did you have something else in mind we should argue about?" she asked, eyes half closed.

"No, I have something in mind that would take the place of arguing," he said sagely.

"And that would be?"

"Something much more enjoyable. Do you prefer the bed or the bath?"

"Mm, I think I'm too tired for water aerobics, Booth."

"Bed it is, then," he said with a chuckle. He stood and tugged her arms until she joined him.

It was Brennan who lead the way to his bedroom.

_Hoover Building, Washington DC, mid-Monday morning_

Jennifer and Kayla Sinclair sat close beside each other, holding hands at a long table in a small conference room. Both had a freshly scrubbed, ruddy appearance, but looked uncomfortable nonetheless. Jennifer's eyes were bloodshot, and she rocked almost imperceptibly in her chair. Kayla protectively worried her thumb across the back of her mother's hand. "I realize you have to ask, Agent Booth, but does it have to be now?" Kayla asked. "Mom's been through too much."

"It's all right, Kay," Jennifer said, shakily patting her daughter's hand. "I'm not as weak as you might think." Jennifer looked down at her still shaking hand. She pressed it against the table and only then did the tremors cease. "It's the withdrawal symptoms. They tell me it could take weeks for the shakes and this awful feeling to go away."

Booth leaned forward in his chair slightly, "I'm very sorry for all you've been through. I know this must be difficult for you."

Jennifer Sinclair's expression revealed raw pain when she met Booth's eyes. "Do you? My husband was involved with some very unsavory people. I know that. But I loved him despite his faults and his associates. This whole mess has been one nightmare after another, and now I have to find a way to pick up the pieces."

Booth nodded and was about speak when Brennan interjected, "Yes. We do. I can assure you, Mrs. Sinclair, that we understand how difficult your situation is. But our personal experience is not pertinent to this investigation, whereas yours is in fact critical to finding the responsible parties and bringing them to justice."

Jennifer Sinclair turned a steely gaze on Brennan and rose from her seat. Booth opened his mouth to speak, but Brennan was too fast. She stood quickly and leaned forward, her hands splayed on the table and said, "Would you rather me tell you my story and try to relate to you—which if I were in your position, I would likely find highly offensive—or would you rather tell us yours so we can help?"

Booth hissed under his breath, "Bones!"

For the first time since they had met Jennifer Sinclair that morning, a spark of life seemed to flair in her eyes, and then she gave them a rueful laugh. "Call me Jen, Dr. Brennan. You find out who is behind all this, and you put him and that sleaze Peterson away for good. After that, maybe we can have some coffee sometime, and you can tell me your story then."

"I look forward to it, Jen. And you may call me Tempe." The women shook hands across the table, much to the surprise of Booth and Kayla Sinclair, whose eyes met and silently sought an explanation from the other for the conversation they had just witnessed.

Booth rapidly regained his composure as the women regained their seats. "What can you tell us about the night of the abduction."

Jennifer grimaced, but began to recount the events of the night her family was sundered. "Jones. Mike Jones." She looked directly at Booth and continued, "The one who was shot yesterday at the airport. He was with WitSec. We never expected someone who was protecting us to turn on us. He came alone. . . ."


	50. Kidnapped

50. Kidnapped

_Hoover building, small viewing room_

Tom Harkness stared at a small monitor displaying a conference room. The figures on the screen were familiar to him, Seeley Booth, Dr. Brennan, and Jenny and Kayla Sinclair. He observed from the closed circuit television as Jenny Sinclair unwrapped her fresh wounds to tell Booth and Brennan the story of what he could only assume was the worst night of her life. He had only met Jenny a few times while he and Mark Sinclair had been putting the case together against Peterson, but he was certain she would not have opened up to him. Certainly not as fully as she was with Booth and Brennan. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something seemed to click between the two women. It seemed deeper than their shared experience of personal loss. Maybe it was an iron will underneath it all, and maybe, he thought with a mental shrug, he would never figure it out. Twenty-seven years of marriage and two daughters had taught him that sometimes women were just impossible to fully understand.

Harkness saw something else through the monitor too. Booth and Brennan were somehow _more_ than they were the night he tracked them down at the park. If Harkness were a betting man, a vice he had given up years ago, he would have wagered that the two of them were an item. He certainly hoped so, at least. Booth had seemed completely smitten with his pretty partner, and the more he watched her the more he understood Booth's fascination.

Harkness glanced over at a man sitting beside him, watching the same scene unfold. He was a slim, academic type who had introduced himself as Dr. Lance Sweets. Harkness had never met him before, but had heard the scuttlebutt about the genius shrink. Sweets tapped a few notes into his PDA, but Harkness had the distinct feeling Sweets was paying more attention to the parters instead of evaluating the Sinclairs.

Something Jenny said snapped him from his musings, and he had to replay her words in his head to absorb their full weight. _ ". . . and then Mike zapped Mark in the back with a stun gun."_

"Bastard," Harkness muttered to himself as Jenny described how Jones had made her and Kayla carry Sinclair's still quivering body to a windowless van.

_Hoover building, small conference room_

"He made us climb in the back with Mark. I thought the stun gun knocked him out until he moaned when we hit a pothole. I don't know how long we were in the van. It felt like a long time, but maybe it was only about an hour. I'm sorry, I can't be more specific."

"Don't worry about it. You're doing great," Booth said encouragingly.

"When the van finally stopped, he made us get out and leave Mark. We were in front of a little run-down house. It seemed more like a low-rent suburb than someplace in the city. Clapboard siding, peeling paint, chain link fence. I think it was white, or maybe gray, and I remember the yard wasn't completely overgrown. Just run down. There was a detached garage, I remember that, and a floodlight."

"And a dog," Kayla said. "I think it was a Doberman."

Booth nodded encouragingly, "Did you happen to see a mailbox or a street number?" Both Jenny and Kayla shook their heads in a negative gesture. Booth then glanced at his partner, sensing she wanted to ask something.

"Do you remember hearing anything when you were in the van, even a change in the road noise?" Brennan asked.

"We, we passed a couple of sirens," Kayla said. "I think one of them was a fire truck. And it was near the house they took us to."

"How can you be sure?" Brennan asked.

"Well, I was scared, but I didn't want to cry. I couldn't see out of the van, so I couldn't count telephone poles or bridge supports," she said.

Seeing their puzzled expressions, Jenny interjected, "Kay used to be scared of riding in the car when she was little. Her grandparents—Mark's folks—They were killed a car crash when she was six. They were hit head-on by a drunk driver. Anyway, we used to get her to count telephone poles on the side of the road to keep her mind off the other cars coming at us in the other lanes."

"Anything would do," Kayla said. "But I couldn't see anything, so I counted heartbeats. I counted my heartbeats between the sirens. I remember hanging onto those numbers. Stupid, huh? Thinking a few numbers might save us?"

"That's not stupid at all, Kayla," Brennan said. If you still remember those numbers, maybe we can calculate how long you were in the van. From that we can extrapolate a range of distances traveled, and if we can match that to a fire truck call, we might be able to find where you were held."

"You can do all that just on how many heartbeats I counted?"

Brennan hesitated, her lips formed into a moue, a word forming on the tip of her tongue, then she bit her lip and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. "My team can. They're very good at their jobs."

_Hoover building, small viewing room_

Lance Sweets pushed his chair back from the table he shared with Harkness and shook his head. He had seen Booth's eyes narrow at Brennan's hesitation and assumed he made the same intuitive leap. _"That's going to be another long and uncomfortable session with Dr. Brennan,"_ Sweets thought to himself. _"Perhaps I can find a way to tell Zach she still thinks of him,"_ the young psychologist's internal monologue continued.

"If you'll excuse me, Agent Harkness, I think they seem to be coping pretty well. Are you going to stay for the rest of the interview?"

"Yea, I suppose I am," Harkness replied.

"Well, I guess I'll see you at the next interview. I've got a ten o'clock session. Let me know if you or Agent Booth think I need to review the rest of this interview. But based on what I've seen so far, I don't think that'll be necessary."

Harkness repressed a laugh and said, "I'll do that, Dr. Sweets. Good to meet you." Harkness never took his eyes away from the small monitor.

"Same here." With that, Sweets withdrew from the small room down the hall from where Booth and Brennan continued their interview with the Sinclairs.

_Hoover building, small conference room_

"All I know after they took us in the house, is that the van drove off. I heard the engine. Strained to hear it really, as it drove away. After that, I don't remember much until yesterday. It's all a hazy blur. Takeout food and drugs is all I remember. I never saw Mark again," Jenny concluded.

"They didn't give us any shots yesterday, just some pills," Kayla said, filling in the gaps for her mother.

"Probably so you could ambulate without much assistance," Brennan replied. "I'm going to get all this information to my team at the Jeffersonian. Kayla, would you be willing to spend a little time with some of them this afternoon and tell them everything you remember about that ride and anyone you remember from the house?"

"I think I can do that," Kayla agreed.

"Thank you. We have an artist who may be able to draw a sketch of anyone you remember, and the rest of the team will get to work on your heartbeat calculations," Brennan said.

"Mom, what will you do while I'm there?" Kayla asked her mother with concern.

"Don't worry, Kay. You go on with Tempe. I've got a funeral to plan and family to call. We're so far out of witness protection now, I don't see the need to hide anymore. I wouldn't trust them if they offered their help again anyway."

Brennan had a surprised look on her face as she said, "Oh, no. I think you misunderstand. I won't be there, my team will. I'll be with Booth interviewing the suspects in custody." Seeing Jennifer's eyebrows rise, she looked to Booth who gave her a cautioning look in return. "But I can take you over and introduce you to everyone."

Booth relaxed only when Jennifer leaned back and gave Brennan an approving nod. "Bones, why don't you go ahead and take Kayla over to the Jeffersonian. I'll make sure Mrs. Sinclair has everything she needs for this afternoon and set up for our interrogations this afternoon."

Brennan nodded and retrieved a business card from her pocket. She handed it to Jennifer and said, "Call me anytime."

"Give me your keys, Booth. We drove in together this morning."

He squinted at her momentarily, but relinquished his keys without further comment.

"I'll call you," she said, then ushered Kayla out the door with a final wave back into the room to Jennifer.

Booth changed his mind about commenting as she was leaving and called after her, "No siren!"


	51. Steel Bends

51. Steel Bends

Booth spent a few more minutes with Jennifer Sinclair in the conference room to clarify any details she could remember about the van and, if asked, he would have to admit he wanted to make sure she was as ready to face the grim work of funeral arrangements and other familial obligations as she could be. When he was satisfied, he turned her over to another agent to coordinate everything she would need. With that task complete, he sought out Harkness whom he found still sitting in the viewing room.

"Hey, Tom. You catch it all?" Booth asked.

"I sure did. Had the pleasure of watching most of it with some skinny fella by the name of Sweets.

"Oh, God, I hope he behaved himself," Booth said jokingly while running a hand through his hair.

"What do you mean? Kid hardly said a word. 'Though he did leave after your partner told Kay they could probably figure out how long the van was and maybe figure where they were taken."

Booth took a seat in the chair beside Harkness, but he did not interrupt the other agent.

"Meh," Harkenss said, miming a throw away gesture, "The only thing he really said was a message for you. Said it looked like the Sinclairs were doing okay, but if you thought he ought to look at the rest of the tape later, he would." Harkness paused and shook his head. "As far as I can tell, those gals are anything but okay. One lost her husband, the other her dad. Both got kidnapped, drugged, and nearly killed. In what world is any of that okay, huh?" Harkness prodded, clearly frustrated.

Booth pursed his lips to one side and said, "I know what you mean, Tom. But knowing Sweets, he probably meant he didn't think either of them were going to try to kill themselves or take matters into their own hands, and I'd have to agree with him. They're fighters and they've taken a lot of hits, but they're getting up and dusting themselves off. They're gonna make it through this."

"Darn right they are. And that will get a lot easier once we nail everyone behind this."

Booth chucked Harkness on the shoulder with a light punch and stood back up. "C'mon, old man. We've got interrogations to prep for. I wanna let Bones in on the Joe Watson one. He's the guy she caught at my place yesterday. I figure she deserves another chance to face him under controlled conditions. That bugger was mighty careful. Had to pull his ID based on prints. But, I want you in on Doug Kincaid, the uninjured guy we picked up at the airport, and Mike Jones, the WitSec guy who took the Sinclairs. Right now Jones is my number one suspect for killing your witness, Mark Sinclair."

"Yeah, Jenny's account of the kidnapping seems to point that way. Can we get Jones today or is he still in the hospital?" Harkness asked.

"He's due to be released into custody this afternoon. So today, I hope."

"I'm in," Harkness said, standing slowly and stretching his legs. "But, you know my concerns, right? What kind of security do we have here?" Harkness asked.

"I do. Someone I trust set up a closed-circuit video feed this morning that's saving to an encrypted file. Even if someone hunts for and finds the files, they're going to have to break the encryption to get at what we now know. Besides the person who set up the system, only you, me, Sweets, and Bones can access any of the interrogations and subsequent investigations since I caught the case."

"Sounds pretty secure," Harkness said, trying to control the irritation that was building in him at being excluded from the video feed set-up information.

"It is," Booth assured him. "And, we're logging everything under my case file, not yours, which is also locked down. The only thing I can't completely control right now are dispatch personnel and physical evidence. If anything comes into the case through dispatch, that info could be compromised – if it's human intelligence knocking our investigation off track. Most of the physical evidence is at Bones' lab. Out of my control, but secure."

"So it's your file now, is it? And it's someone you trust? As in, you don't trust me with their name?" Harkness asked, his irritation bubbling to the surface. His voice was controlled, but his eyes flashed with the fire he felt.

"Jeez, Tom. I'm trying to keep you completely involved in my investigation into Sinclair's death, and you're giving me crap about protecting the integrity of the investigation and encroaching on your Peterson case. If I wanted to, I could blame you for the tip Jones got at the airport. You were the only one besides dispatch and Bones to know where the tac team and I were going yesterday."

Harkness' control was just a memory. His face turned a deep crimson, and he began to shout, "That is complete and utter horse sh...."

"Stop. Just stop right there," Booth said in a raised voice, loud enough to halt Harkness, mid-word, and slapped the table, shaking the monitor. "Do you see where this is getting us, huh? I'll tell you where. We're at each other's throats instead of teaming up against the actual criminals. If we keep this up, we'll never nail these guys. Tom," Booth continued, "I don't suspect you; but if you want to keep on the defensive here with me, I'll have no choice but to cut you out of the investigation and add you to my suspect list."

The two men stared each other down in silence. Harkness' steely gaze met Booth's stone-faced determination until finally, as fired steel does, Harkness yielded to Booth, trapped between the twin threat hammer blows and the anvil of Booth's determination to do the right thing. Harkness said nothing. Instead, he clenched his teeth and nodded sharply at Booth, then gestured towards the door.

"Okay," Booth said with a return nod for Harkness. "Let's get to work."

_Medico-Legal Lab, Jeffersonian Institute_

Wendell Bray, intern of the week at the Medico-Legal Lab and graduate student of Dr. Brennan, recalculated the numbers he had been crunching for the past half hour. The kerf marks Dr. Brennan had found were not straight. He had measured and re-measured the small etchings and was certain of his findings, and he hoped Dr. Hodgins would be able to confirm his suspicion. Armed with the data drawn from the kerf marks and his calculations, he sought out Jack Hodgins.

"Excuse me, Dr. Hodgins, I was wondering if you could tell me anything about the particulates you found in the kerf marks," Wendell began.

"Hey, Wendell. You looking for anything specific?" Hodgins asked.

"Specific. I have a theory, but I need to know if you can determine the strength of the blade used to make those marks."

Camille Saroyan joined the men at Hodgins' station and listened attentively to their discussion.

"Okay," Hodgins said, drawing out the word. "The particulates are consistent with a steel alloy. But, and this is interesting considering our current theory that this was a professional kill, the alloy is a flexible mix that would be prone to bending. More like a fillet knife than a hunting knife. I'm running a check on specific alloy blends now to see if I can pinpoint a manufacturer. If I had to give you a strength assessment, I'd say it's pretty strong, but very flexible. How does that fit with whatever you've found there?"

A sly smile formed on Wendell's face as he nodded. "I think it fits pretty well. The only way the kerf marks could show the patterning I found would be if the blade bent, or flexed as it scored the bone. Plus, the distance between the marks is congruent with a slim blade, like a fillet knife."

"That's a really weird weapon of choice," Hodgins said.

Wendell nodded his agreement. "That's what's bothering me. I just don't see it. Why would a professional killer use such a flimsy knife."

"Maybe," Hodgins said, "it isn't a pro. Maybe it's someone who's just really comfortable with a fillet knife. A chef, or a fisherman maybe."

"If I were a chef, I don't think I'd grab a boning knife as my weapon of choice. I'm thinking more like a butcher knife," Wendell said.

Saroyan chimed in to say, "Don't speculate too much, here people. Just get me the info and I'll get it over to Booth. He's interrogating the guys they've picked up so far. Anything we've got will help."

At that point, Brennan entered the lab with Kayla Sinclair. She deftly maneuvered the teen through the crowded lab and diverted her to Angela's office. She took notice as Kayla glanced towards the skeletal remains on the platform above them as they walked by and nodded when Kayla asked, "Is that my dad?"

"Yes, those are his remains," Brennan answered her simply. "But, we're going to Angela's office. She's the artist I mentioned, and she can start working on your heartbeat counts too." Kayla tore her eyes from the platform and continued to follow Brennan through the lab. They paused outside of Angela's office and Brennan knocked on the door frame.

"Ange?" she called into the office to get the artist's attention.

"Hey sweetie," Angela said, looking up from her computer. "Who do you have with you, Bren?"

Brennan stepped into Angela's office and ushered Kayla with her. "Angela Montenegro, I'd like you to meet Kayla Sinclair. This is Mr. Sinclair's daughter."

"Oh!" Angela said while standing. She crossed her office and pulled a hesitant Kayla into a hug then with her hands on Kayla's shoulders, pushed her back to arm's length. "How are you holding up, hon?"

Kayla recovered from the surprise of the hug quickly and said, "I'm doing okay, considering. It's nice to meet you Ms. Montenegro."

"Angela, please," she said and pointed to the chairs beside her desk. "Grab a seat. Tell me what you need, Bren."

Brennan waited for Kayla to sit down and then said, "Kayla has some information that may help us calculate how far she and her mother were taken, and perhaps even help us narrow down the neighborhood where they were held after the kidnapping."

Angela's interest in Kayla transformed from sympathy to curiosity as the teen described her heartbeat counts and the siren wails during her tumultuous journey. Angela punched figures into her computer as Kayla spoke and began running calculations based on Kayla's accounting. "Of course, we'll have to take into consideration an elevated pulse rate due to the stress of the situation," Brennan added once Kayla finished describing the timeline.

"Already on it, Bren," Angela replied automatically, already deeply engrossed in her work. "This is going to be interesting. It reminds me of Zach leading us to. . .," she said, then broke off. She looked up at Brennan and saw a reflection of the pain she felt flash cross her friend's face. "Me too, sweetie," Angela said apologetically.

"It's fine, Angela. Just work the data. When you finish, would you spend some sketch time with Kayla? She's going to try to describe anyone she remembers seeing over the last few weeks. Kayla, Angela will take good care of you this afternoon. I'm going to join Booth, interrogating the suspects we've caught so far." Brennan was all business now, her face a mask unreadable.

"Yeah," Angela said. "We'll be fine. Go stick it to the bad guys, and we'll get you more information for round two."

"Thanks."

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan," Kayla added before Brennan left.

Brennan offered her a weak smile, then headed for the door.


	52. The Pot and the Kettle

**Thank you for sticking with me during this long down-time between chapters. This one is not especially long, but I am writing again. I should be able to give you more regular updates for a while.**

52. The Pot and the Kettle

With Kayla Sinclair safely in Angela's hands, Brennan closed the office door and reached for her phone. Before she could open it, the small device began to vibrate in her hand, startling her. She fumbled with it for a moment before managing to get it open, "Brennan," she said quickly and began walking toward the elevator.

"Bones, everything okay?" Booth's concerned voice asked her.

"Yes, I'm fine. I was about to call you and the phone started ringing before I could dial," she said.

"Oh good. You're done with Kayla then?" he asked.

"Yes. She's with Angela for the afternoon. I anticipate Angela will call with a general location of the house after lunch. She was entering data for the calculations when I left them." Brennan paused at the elevator, pressed the down button, and waited for it to arrive.

"That'll make for a full day. We need to get these interviews out of the way, but if we get a location, I think the interviews can wait," Booth said.

"I agree. Although, perhaps Agent Harkness could handle the initial interviews. We can give him our impressions and follow up later if necessary. You are still treating this case as a combined effort, aren't you?"

"For now," he said noncommittally. "Hey, can you meet me at the diner?"

"Meet you? Sure. But, how are you going to get there since I have your car?"

"Harkness is driving," he said.

"Oh," she replied, unaware that her short answer could so clearly announce her disappointment at having someone join them for lunch. "Of course," she said in a more upbeat tone, "if we get a lead, it would be most beneficial to have already discussed the case with Harkness. Did Agent Harkness or Dr. Sweets glean anything further from our interview of the Sinclairs?"

"No, you and Kayla are still the shining stars of that conversation."

The elevator doors opened with a chime and Brennen entered. "I'm just getting on the elevator if I lose you. Now, what do you mean by shining stars?" She pressed the button for her level of the parking garage. The doors slid shut and the car began its descent.

"I mean, you're brilliant. Who, other than you, would have thought to figure out how long they were in the van based on Kayla counting her heartbeats?" Booth asked. Brennan was silent for a long moment, long enough for Booth check his phone to see if they were still connected. They were. "Bones, you still there?"

Her one-word reply was quiet and introspective. "Zach."

"Bones. . .," Booth replied, his gut clenching involuntarily.

"Zach," she said a bit more loudly. "Zach would have thought of it. In fact, Zach is the reason I thought of it. It was quite similar to the way he found Gormogon for you, even as his own future evaporated before our eyes."

Booth thought he heard a muffled sob from her side of the call once she finished speaking. He was quiet for a moment, troubled over how to respond. Opting to lighten the mood, he said, "'Went up in smoke' sounds better, Bones."

He realized his mistake when she instantly retorted in her flat analytical manner, "I am not in the mood for a popular phrase lesson right now." No hint of tears remained in her voice, making him wonder if he really heard a sob at all. "And, I don't really want to talk about it, Booth."

"C'mon, Bones. It's me."

Silence.

"Bones?" Booth heard the elevator chime over the line, followed by the familiar squeal of the elevator doors and was thankful she had not hung up.

"Booth, it would serve no useful purpose to discuss it. All it will do is make me more sad about the entire situation. Just let me deal with it in my own way," she said.

"I've been letting you deal with it your way for months now. Hey, I'm no genius, but it's obvious that you haven't been able to deal with it. Not completely. You never talk about him, even just to say you miss him. So why don't you try . . ., just try talking to someone about it. Maybe it will help."

"What do you want me to say, Booth? That he doesn't belong in there? Well, he doesn't. He's not crazy. He had a lapse in judgment." She continued when Booth didn't interrupt her. "Albeit, a serious lapse in judgment. But—take my father for example. My father has actually killed people, and he's walking around free. I still find it very hard to believe Zach actually killed anyone; but there he is, locked up in the . . . the psychiatric hospital."

Quietly, and with a smile on his face he said, "Yea, that's exactly what I want you to say. Say what you're feeling, and let the sadness go a little more each time you talk about it."

"Hrmph. I think there's another common phrase about a teakettle and a pot that could apply here," was her only reply.

"Yea, yea. I resemble that remark," he said.

Brennan chuckled on her end of the line.

"You know, the hospital is better than jail. Zach's not the kind of guy who would do well in prison." Booth heard the familiar chirp of his car's alarm disengaging and then heard the car door shut before she responded.

"I know. But I still feel like I should be able to fix it. He doesn't belong in either place. He belongs back here. In the lab. With us."

"Is there any possible scenario where you could see Justice releasing him from custody—hospital or otherwise?" Booth asked.

"No, and that's why I feel so terrible every time I think of him." Brennan started the car.

"I know, Bones. And, I don't know how we can fix this one."

"Neither do I," she sighed. "I'll see you at the diner." With a flick of her wrist she snapped shut her phone and dropped it on the passenger seat. She gripped the steering wheel and rested her forehead against it for a moment before she sat up and backed out of the parking space. By the time she emerged from the dim garage into the bright winter sunlight, she was no longer thinking of Zach.


	53. Lunch

53. Lunch

The indecipherable murmur of multiple conversations punctuated by a chime from the cash register and an announcement of "Order up!" greeted Brennan as she entered the Royal Diner. She glanced at the people filling the tables. Not seeing Booth or Harkness she scanned the figures at the counter. A familiar voice called out, "He's not here yet. But, your table will be free in a few, hon. Grab a seat at the counter if you want." Brennan recognized Cindy, a pleasant young woman who had been waiting tables at the Royal Diner for several months, and nodded her thanks before sliding onto one of the counter stools. The next time Cindy walked by, she pushed a steaming cup of coffee in front of Brennan and asked, "You want me to get your orders in?"

"Better not. Someone else is joining us for lunch. You might as well find out what he wants and put them all in together," she replied.

"Okie dokie," Cindy chirped and moved on to her next customer.

Brennan sipped her coffee while she waited for a large enough table to become available. She spotted Booth and Harkness through the plate glass window just as a table opened up. She waved to get their attention and pointed to the table near the back of the diner, then grabbed her coffee and walked over to claim the table. Booth and Harkness joined her momentarily. Booth took the seat beside her and Harkness sat across the table from them.

"What's good," Harkness asked while perusing the menu.

"I suppose that depends on whether you prefer cholesterol and fat laden burgers or a more sensible meal," Brennan answered.

Booth shot her a hurt look and said, "The burgers are great, and the apple pie is the best in town."

"Burger it is, then," Harkness said.

"Watch your fries around her," Booth said pointing at Brennan. "She's a thief."

Brennan playfully nudged Booth's knee under the table and said, "Only yours."

Booth grinned.

Cindy appeared in front of their table, notepad in hand and smile on her face. "What can I get you?" she asked Harkness.

Booth motioned for Harkness to order.

"Your burger and fries are highly recommended. I'll give it a shot. No tomatoes, please."

"To drink?" Cindy asked.

"Oh, coffee works," Harkness said.

Cindy nodded and turned towards Booth. "The usual for you two?"

They both nodded in reply. Cindy gave them a small wave and said, "Shouldn't take too long."

Turning her attention to Harkness, Brennan asked, "Did Booth ask you to be prepared to take over some of the interviews this afternoon?"

Harkness looked quickly to Booth, who was pulling something out of his jacket pocket, and then looked back to Brennan. "No, but I know you're hoping for a lead on the house they were taken to."

Booth flipped open the notepad he pulled from his jacket pocket, placed it on the table and leaned forward. Harkness retrieved a similar small notebook along with a pen from his own coat.

"Okay," Booth began in a quiet tone with a glance towards Brennan. "Tom and I started discussing strategy after you took Kayla over to the Jeffersonian."

"First, Joseph Watson, captured at my apartment yesterday morning. I'd like to get this one done right after lunch. Bones, I want you in the interview room with this guy. We don't have much to go on. Local cops found his car down the block with my photo on the dash. We also have the bug. Probably government issue, but nothing conclusive yet. We need to find out if he's working solo or who he works for and what they hoped to gain by bugging my apartment. Bones, I want you to make him very uncomfortable. Rub it in his face that a scientist took him down with a hockey stick or that you're a woman. Whatever. Just make him squirm."

"You want me to play upon the stereotype that women, especially academically inclined women, are weaker than men, and therefore, he should feel ashamed that I subdued him?" she asked incredulously. Booth nodded, a grin spreading across his face.

"You realize that's quite sexist and completely irrelevant. Surprise was the larger factor in the matter. He was sloppy and assumed the apartment was empty, which gave me the upper hand," Brennan said matter-of-factly.

"You'll do fine, Bones," Booth said, chuckling, when Brennan's expression turned to one of confusion. "Yep. Say something just like that. You'll do fine."

"Second," Booth continued. "Douglas Kincaid. We captured him, uninjured, at the airfield. Everything we have says he's a recruiter for an international human resource staffing agency. His ID has a few cracks in it though, and we've got people digging. We need to see if we can widen the cracks far enough to see what he's hiding," Booth said.

Harkness interjected, "This still sounds like a cover story to me, and it fits with the Peterson case. I wouldn't be surprised if this guy was part of Peterson's operation. If so, I'm willing to go out on a limb and say he's CIA too." Harkness began shaking his head in disgust. "Human trafficking is not pretty. Young women are usually the target. They wind up as sex slaves in some third-world dirt hole. And, I wouldn't put it past the CIA to run a covert op like this if they thought it could get them intel. That recruiting story would be a nice cover for getting someone out of the country if it looks like a legitimate job opportunity. Hell, he might have even duped someone into going along willingly. I don't remember his name ever popping up in my investigation, but I'll cross-check it while you guys take Watson."

"Thanks, Tom," Booth said.

"No problem. Least I can do, right?" Harkness replied, making a note in his pad.

Booth met the older man's eyes and nodded, showing no sign of tension from their earlier argument. He referenced his own notebook and said, "Third, we've got U.S. Marshal, er, make that former Marshal Michael Jones." His mouth puckered as if his words had a sour taste. "Apprehended at the airfield. He was wounded and transported to the hospital. Should be released into federal custody this afternoon. Jones was the Sinclairs' WitSec handler. I heard from the Marshal's office this morning. They processed his termination first thing, and they are relocating all his protectees, providing new identities. They really took it on the nose with this one, and they aren't happy about it. They sent over his personnel file and the file on the Sinclairs. And, if they have their way, we're going to have company from someone in their office when we question him. I gather they're more interested in anything he may have leaked about other witnesses under protection, but I see a problem sharing the interrogation room."

"Oh," Brennan said knowingly. "You're worried about the leak."

"Yea, Bones. I really don't want them in there until we finish our investigation."

"Can we get a restraining order or something until we're finished with him?" Harkness asked.

"Not sure, but I was thinking about asking Caroline for just that," Booth said.

"Worth a shot," Harkness agreed.

"Right. I'll call her after lunch," Booth said, closing his notebook and leaning back as Cindy arrived carrying a tray laden with orders for at least two tables. Harkness closed his own notebook and tucked it in his coat.

"Here you go," Cindy said to Harkness when she placed his plate in front of him. She quickly served up Brennan and Booth's plates and said with a wink, "You need anything else, you let me know."

"Coffee refill for me, please" Brennan said.

Cindy pulled their check from her apron and placed it face down beside Booth's coffee cup, "Back in a jiffy," then turned for her next table. She was true to her word, returning with a steaming carafe moments later. She deftly topped off the coffee and then seemed to disappear from view.

Booth steered their conversation away from the case while they ate. He discussed with Harkness the comings and goings of family members and common acquaintances. Harkness had been tense since their argument earlier, but seemed more relaxed now that they were discussing more personal matters. Harkness even quizzed Brennan, quite thoroughly in fact, on several points raised in her novels. Booth remembered him mentioning his wife Susan liked Brennan's books, but was surprised at Harkness' intimate knowledge of her stories. Happy with the reduced tension, Booth was content to listen to Brennan deflect Harkness' questions about her fictional alter-ego's personal relationships.

"If I tell you now, the story will be ruined, Tom. You and Susan will have to wait for the release and find out for yourselves, just like Booth." Brennan said with finality. She swiped another fry from Booth's plate, and Harkness snorted.

"I see what you mean about her thieving ways. And she doesn't even give you a sneak peek at her books in exchange. That's just wrong," Harkness laughed.

"Tell me about it," Booth said with a smirk.

"It's not wrong at all. The only person who reads my book before the advance release date, besides myself, is my editor. That's actually in my contract," she informed them.

"Whoa, advance release date?" Harkness asked.

"You never mentioned an advance release date before," Booth said.

"The advance release date is when the book is sent to critics for review, in order to generate interest and bolster sales, I believe. Don't we have more pressing matters to discuss?"

Booth shook his head. "Nope. We covered it before lunch. So, you get advance copies then?"

Brennan bit her lip and hesitated before answering. "I don't receive advance copies."

"But you can, can't you?" Booth badgered her.

"How is that relevant to our investigation?" she deflected, rather less adeptly than she handled questions about Kathy Reichs.

"It's not, and I'll let it go. For now," Booth said with a grin. "Let's get out of here. I have a call to make and we have a scum bag to interview."


	54. Sloppy Joe

54. Sloppy Joe

_Interrogation Room – Hoover Building_

Lance Sweets studied the interrogation room's single occupant from the darkened observation room. The small but well lit interrogation room was lined with large gray acoustic tiles. A steel table, two empty chairs, and a mirror fitted into one wall were all that kept the man company. Sweets knew how cave-like the room felt, and he knew the man within probably felt trapped. However, his body language did not communicate any such feeling.

The interrogation room's occupant sat in a third chair across the table from the empty ones and stared into the mirror. He knew it was a two-way mirror. A functional piece, rather than decorative. The man lowered his gaze slightly to view his own, which he dry washed before him, his elbows propped on the table. The orange jumpsuit created a stark contrast between his fair skin and only served to exaggerate the appearance of faint liver spots on the back of his hands. He ran a hair through is brown hair, leaned back and crossed his legs, clasping his hands together loosely in his lap while he waited. His wide-set eyes stared into his own reflection, unblinking. He knew someone on the other side was watching. Joe Watson was used to waiting. He was a patient man.

When the door finally opened, Watson blinked several times and then stilled his face, observing the new arrivals through the mirror, rather than face them directly. He watched as a slim, dark haired woman sauntered into the room followed by a taller, dark-haired man. They were beautiful people, and he knew they knew it by the way they carried themselves. Confident. Assured. He also recognized them both. He had watched Seeley Booth leave his apartment with a child yesterday. And the woman, he assumed she was Dr. Temperance Brennan, she was the one who had apprehended him.

Booth, carried a folder with him, which he tossed on the table. He held out one of the chairs for his companion and took the seat beside her once she was settled. Neither spoke. Although patient, Watson decided to end the silence.

"So good to see you both again," he said smugly.

Brennan arched a eyebrow at his greeting, but remained mute.

"Cut the wiseass act, Joe. We've got your number," Booth said.

Maintaining his calm, Watson replied, "Is that so?"

"You could say that." Booth flipped open the folder and spun it around. He tapped his finger hard on the 8x10 picture within. "Nice piece of hardware you brought to my apartment yesterday."

Watson glanced down at the glossy photo, which showed a close up of a small circuit board. He pursed his lips and said, "looks like a chip of some kind. What's that got to do with me?"

The woman let loose a throaty chuckle. "That is the guts of the bug you planted at Booth's apartment yesterday. Well, the one you tried to plant, that is. Right before I took you down." She finished her statement with a smile fit for a Cheshire cat. "Did you know that the chip manufacturer laser cuts a serial number into those tiny boards?" She paused briefly, then continued when he did not comment. "And they also track who they sell them to." She pushed the top photo aside to reveal another glossy of a number etched on the side of what Watson presumed was the bug's chip. "If you have the right resources, you can track down just about anything. And we," she said glance at Booth, "have the right resources."

"Naw, you've got it all wrong there missy. I was just looking for a few things to bag before I dashed out of your boyfriend's place," Watson said.

"Deny it all you like. It's probably not easy to accept that a woman bested you. A scientist no less. We're not supposed to be able to take down someone like you, are we? Don't you think, Booth?"

Booth shrugged, "If I were you, Joe, I'd feel like a schmuck if someone like Dr. Brennan here had put me on my knees with a hockey stick."

Brennan glanced at Booth before continuing. "So, why don't you just tell us what the CIA was hoping to find, Joe?"

"And while you're at it, why don't you provide me a copy of your directive sanctioning a operation on US soil, hm?" Booth interjected.

Watson answered with silence and stared into the two-way mirror.

"Or maybe he doesn't care that a woman bested him. Maybe it's just that anyone bested him. He got sloppy. He didn't do his due diligence on your apartment yesterday. He had no idea I was there, did you Joe? That was quite sloppy, Joe. Sloppy indeed."

Booth chuckled at Brennan's choice of words. "I like that, Bones. Sloppy Joe. I think that's a good nick name for you, don't you, Sloppy Joe?"

"Oh," Brennan commented, sounding surprised, and then chuckled, "That is rather amusing."

Watson rolled his eyes, but maintained his silence.

Booth leaned forward across the table, his voice just barely above a whisper as he spoke. "That's okay, Sloppy Joe. I'll get the info. The Agency is going to cut you loose after I get through trashing your credibility on this busted op. Your days in intelligence are over."

"Agency sanctioned. You think this is Agency sanctioned?" Watson chortled nervously. "You think that because the bug is from Agency inventory, that you've got my number. You have no idea what you're dealing with."

"No? Why don't you enlighten me, Sloppy Joe?" Booth probed. He shuffled the pictures to the back of the file and extracted another document. "Your cell records will get us there. Between you and all the others we've got in custody, there will be common numbers. We're going to figure out who is in charge of this little operation, and when we do, it will go a lot easier for you if you've been cooperative."

"I'm not afraid of any federal penitentiary," Watson said, shifting in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest.

"But you should be afraid of who the CIA, or whoever you're working for, can put in the cell with you. Bound to be someone who wants him some Sloppy Joe." Booth retorted.

Watson's demeanor was no longer relaxed. His eyes were cold and his jaw set. Booth knew he was close. "The big guys, they don't like mistakes like this. You should know that, Joe." Booth stood abruptly and tapped Brennan on the shoulder. "Let's go, Bones. We got what we need for now. Let's let him think about prison for a little while."

Brennan gathered the file materials and stood, joining Booth. "Your cooperation could mean some measure of protection, Mr. Watson. Think about it," she said.

"Protection?" Watson shook his head. "You've got to be kidding me. She's kidding, right?" Watson asked Booth. "You know what happened to the last protected witness. He's dead, and his family is likely long gone by now. Nope, I'll take my chances in the pen, thank you very much."

"Let's go, Bones," Booth said under his breath and ushered Brennan out of the room before she could give away any information about the Sinclairs.

Sweets nodded in satisfaction as he watched from the observation room behind the two-way mirror. Watson hung his head and clasped his hands behind his neck once the door shut behind Brennan and Booth. Sweets turned to Harkness and said, "That's a man who has nothing left. He trusts no one."


End file.
